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^ootis  bp  iSenjamin  ISanU 


ECONOMIC  HISTORY  SINCE  I 763.  Cambridge,  1889; 
5th  ed.,  New  York,  1911. 

SELECT  BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  ECONOMICS.  Cam- 
bridge, 1895. 

LIFE,  UNPUBLISHED  LETTERS  AND  PHILO- 
SOPHICAL REGIMEN  OF  THE  THIRD  EARL  OF 
SHAFTESBURY.  London,  1900. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  PHILOSOPHY.  Two  vols.  New 
York,  1905. 

MODERN  CLASSICAL  PHILOSOPHERS  Boston, 
1907. 

THE  CLASSICAL  MORALISTS.  Boston,  1909 

THE  CLASSICAL  PSYCHOLOGISTS.  Boston,  1912. 


THE  CLASSICAL  MORALISTS 


THE 

CLASSICAL  MORALISTS 

SELECTIONS 
ILLUSTRATING  ETHICS 
FROM  SOCRATES  TO  MARTINEAU 


COMPILED  BY 

BENJAMIN  ^AND,  Ph.  D. 

HARVARD  UNIVERSITY 


1 6^77 


HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

BOSTON  • NEW  YORK  • CHICAGO  • DALLAS  • SAN  FRANCISCO 

®ije  iRibersilic  Cambtibge 


COPYRIGHT,  1909,  BY  BENJAMIN  RAND 


ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


CAMBRIDGE  • MASSACHUSETTS 
PRINTED  IN  THE  U.S.A. 


PREFACE 


“The  Classical  Moralists”  is  a companion  volume  in  the  field 
of  ethics,  to  the  author’s  “Modem  Classical  Philosophers”  in  the 
domain  of  philosophy.  The  book  is  virtually  a history  of  ethics, 
based  not  upon  the  ordinary  description  of  systems,  but  upon 
selections  from  the  original  sources  and  upon  translations  of  the 
authors  themselves.  It  is  sought,  so  far  as  is  practicable,  to  pre- 
sent by  means  of  the  case  method  the  most  distinctive  and  con- 
structive features  in  the  ethical  systems  of  the  successive  moral- 
■ ists.  The  evolution  of  ethical  thought  is  thereby  revealed,  stripped 
of  its  controversial  material,  from  Socrates  to  Martineau.  Such 
a work,  it  is  hoped,  will  prove  indispensable  as  a text-book  of 
required  reading,  alike  for  the  historical  and  for  the  systematic 
study  of  ethics  in  the  universities.  The  general  reader,  and  more 
especially  any  one,  whether  among  the  clergy  or  the  laity,  desir- 
ous of  acquiring  knowledge  of  the  different  ethical  systems,  will 
find  here  a volume  containing  the  original  material  of  the  great 
ethical  masters,  from  the  earliest  to  the  most  recent  times. 

Since  Socrates  may  justly  be  regarded  as  the  founder  of  ethics, 
this  work  begins  with  selections  from  Xenophon’s  “ Memorabilia 
of  Socrates,”  which  centre  about  his  doctrine  of  true  knowledge 
as  the  source  of  right  conduct  and  the  application  of  the  Socratic 
method  to  the  identification  of  wisdom  and  virtue.  The  book 
then  sets  forth  the  lofty  idealism  of  Plato.  For  this  purpose  is 
chosen  his  greatest  work,  “ The  Republic,”  since  the  virtues  of  the 
state  and  of  the  individual  are  regarded  as  identical.  In  Plato’s 
subordination  of  the  non-rational  impulses  to  reason  there  is 
revealed  the  triple  division  of  the  soul,  upon  which  he  bases  his 
four  kinds  of  excellence,  later  styled  the  cardinal  virtues;  i,  wis- 
dom; 2,  courage;  3,  temperance;  and  4,  justice.  His  beautiful 
allegory  of  the  cave  is  also  added,  as  used  to  teach  the  true  dia- 
lectical process  and  the  value  of  philosophy.  The  passages  from 


131677 


VI 


PREFACE 


the  “ Nicomachean  Ethics”  of  Aristotle  present  the  end  of  human 
action  as  the  good,  pleasure  as  the  natural  concomitant  of  vir- 
tuous activity,  and  virtue  as  a settled  habit  formed  by  a due 
observance  of  the  mean  in  a course  of  conduct.  The  post- Aris- 
totelian ethics  of  the  Stoics  and  Epicureans  is  based  upon  the 
account  contained  in  Diogenes  Laertius’  “Lives  and  Opinions  of 
Eminent  Philosophers.”  The  chosen  representatives  are  Zeno, 
the  follower  of  Antisthenes  the  Cynic,  and  Epicurus,  the  follower 
cf  Aristippus  the  Cyrenaic.  The  former  reverts  to  the  original 
Socratic  identification  of  virtue  and  knowledge,  and  also  seeks 
the  highest  good  in  a life  conformable  to  nature;  the  latter  places 
the  root  of  pleasure  in  a freedom  of  the  body  from  pain  and  the 
soul  from  disquietude,  but  likewise  clearly  points  out  that  the 
supreme  object  of  life  can  be  attained  only  through  an  intellectual 
happiness  that  is  identical  with  virtue.  The  transfer  of  Hellenic 
philosophy  to  Rome  finds  illustration  from  the  Epicurean  Lucre- 
tius, author  of  the  didactic  poem  on  “The  Nature  of  Things,” 
in  the  t\A  o passages  where  he  treats  of  the  “ tranquillity  of  the 
philosopher,”  and  of  “ the  fear  of  death  dispelled.”  It  was  in 
Stoicism,  however,  that  the  Roman  mind  reacted  most  fully 
on  Greek  speculation,  and  to  it  abundant  expression  is  given 
by  “ Discourses  ” of  Epictetus  and  “ Meditations  ” of  Marcus 
Aurelius.  The  first  development  of  Neo-Platonism  in  syste- 
matic form  is  contained  in  the  “Enneades”  of  Plotinus,  from 
which  extracts  here  show  how  in  pure  intellectual  existence  the 
soul  escapes  from  the  evils  due  to  its  bodily  environment,  and 
how  it  reaches  its  most  exalted  state,  when  in  pure  contemplation 
it  apprehends  the  “One”  or  the  “Good.” 

In  the  mediaeval  period  it  is  difficult  to  present  ethics  apart 
from  the  great  body  of  theological  doctrines,  except  by  means 
of  a collection  of  isolated  passages.  Chapters  from  Augustine’s 
“City  of  God,”  Peter  Abelard’s  “Ethics,  or  Know  Thyself,” 
and  Thomas  Aquinas’  “Summa  Theologiae”  have,  however, 
been  chosen,  as  it  is  believed  that  these  works  embody  the 
most  sustained  and  representative  ethical  speculation  in  medi- 
aeval thought. 

The  starting-point  of  modern  ethics  is  to  be  found  in  the 


PREFACE 


VII 


discussion  relative  to  the  laws  of  nature  taken  from  the  epoch- 
making  work  of  Hugo  Grotius  upon  “The  Rights  of  War  and 
Peace.”  From  Hobbes’  “Leviathan”  are  taken  those  chapters 
wherein  the  rules  of  society  which  men  ought  to  observe  are 
established  upon  the  dictates  of  right  reason,  proceeding  ne- 
cessarily from  the  nature  of  man.  Cudworth,  the  most  dis- 
tinguished of  the  English  Platonists,  sets  forth  through  his 
“Eternal  and  Immutable  Morality”  the  essential  and  eternal  dis- 
tinctions of  right  and  wrong.  More,  in  his  “Enchiridion  Ethi- 
cum,”  lays  down  certain  noemata  into  which  he  believes  all  moral 
doctrine  may  be  resolved;  and  Cumberland,  in  his  “Laws  of  Na- 
ture,” becomes  the  precursor  of  modem  utilitarianism  by  his  one 
general  proposition  of  benevolence  or  universal  love.  In  the  his- 
tory of  continental  morals,  from  Spinoza’s  “ Ethics”  are  given  the 
doctrines  of  his  one  eternal  substance,  his  three  kinds  of  cognition, 
and  his  intellectual  love  of  God.  And  from  Malebranche’s  “Trea- 
tise of  Morality  ” is  taken  his  theory  that  virtue  consists  in  submis- 
sion to  an  immutable  and  necessary  order.  Locke,  the  founder 
of  English  empiricism,  in  his  celebrated  “Essay  on  the  Human 
Understanding,  ” refutes  here  the  existence  of  innate  practical 
principles,  and  interprets  good  and  evil  as  pleasure  and  pain, 
but  nevertheless  regards  a divine  law  as  “the  true  touchstone  of 
rectitude.”  Samuel  Clarke’s  “Discourse  on  Natural  Religion,” 
in  the  sections  reproduced,  places  ethics  among  the  sciences 
capable  of  demonstration  from  propositions  which  are  as  in- 
contestable as  those  of  mathematics.  In  the  “Inquiry  concern- 
ing Virtue  and  Merit”  the  eloquent  Shaftesbury  insists  on  the 
naturalness  of  man’s  social  affections,  and  defines  virtue  as 
“a  conformity  of  our  affections  with  our  natural  sense  of  the 
sublime  and  beautiful  in  things.”  A brief  section  from  Mande- 
ville’s  “ Fable  of  the  Bees”  is  included,  since  it  stimulated  deeper 
inquiries  on  the  part  of  those  who  opposed  his  theory,  that  moral 
virtue  is  alien  to  the  natural  man.  Wollaston,  a disciple  of  Clarke, 
in  the  “ Religion  of  Nature  Delineated,”  bases  the  distinction  of 
good  and  evil  on  the  respect  which  men’s  actions  bear  to  truth. 
The  “Three  Sermons”  of  Bishop  Butler  printed  in  this  work 
clearly  reveal  a fundamental  difference  between  the  two  great 


PREFACE 


viii 

ethical  periods,  the  Greco-Roman  and  the  English.  In  the 
former  the  one  regulative  principle  of  reason  of  the  “ wise  ” 
man  is  opposed  to  the  uncultivated  impulses  of  the  unwise ; in 
the  latter  period  “ conscience,”  or  the  reflective  self-estimate, 
is  opposed  to  all  unreflective  tendencies,  whether  good  or  bad. 
Hutcheson’s  “Inquiry  Concerning  Moral  Good  and  Evil”  is 
perhaps  best  known  for  the  doctrine  reproduced  in  the  present 
text  that  moral  distinctions  are  made  known  by  a special  capa- 
city of  the  soul  designated  as  the  “ moral  sense.”  Hartley’s  “ Ob- 
servations on  Man,”  as  stimulated  by  Gay,  makes  the  first  sys- 
tematic application  of  the  laws  of  association  to  the  explanation 
of  moral  phenomena,  and  is  thus  the  source  of  modern  ethical 
psychology.  In  Hume’s  “Enquiry  Concerning  the  Principles 
of  Morals,”  and  Adam  Smith’s  “Theory  of  Moral  Sentiments,” 
alike,  sympathy  is  regarded  as  the  sufficient  basis  of  moral  appro- 
bation, without  recourse  to  a “moral  sense,”  and  the  trend  of 
later  utilitarianism  is  thereby  in  no  small  degree  anticipated. 
Brief  chapters  from  Helvetius’  “De  I’Esprit”  and  Paley’s 
“ Moral  and  Political  Philosophy  ” foreshadow  Benthamism  in 
the  identification  of  probity  or  virtue  with  action  productive 
of  happiness.  From  Bentham’s  “Morals  and  Legislation” 
are  printed  fine  fundamental  principles  of  the  first  really  com- 
plete and  thoroughgoing  system  of  utilitarianism.  Price,  in  his 
“Review  of  the  Principal  Questions  in  Morals,”  maintains  the 
existence  of  other  ultimate  moral  principles,  in  addition  to  the 
utilitarian  principle  of  general  benevolence;  and  Reid,  in  his 
“Active  Powers  of  Man,”  appeals  to  common  sense  as  the  final 
arbiter  of  moral  evidence.  In  German  ethics,  Kant’s  exposition 
of  the  sublime  moral  law,  or  categorical  imperative,  has  been 
taken  from  “The  Metaphysic  of  Morals,”  more  particularly 
because  the  “Modern  Classical  Philosophers”  already  con- 
tains his  “Critique  of  Practical  Reason.”  Fichte’s  deduction 
of  the  principle  of  morality  is  reproduced  from  his  “Science  of 
Ethics  ” ; and  Hegel’s  conception  of  the  universal  will  as  object- 
ively presented  in  the  state  is  reproduced  from  his  “ Philosophy 
of  Right.”  Pessimism  finds  expression  in  the  glowing  utterances 
from  Schopenhauer’s  “World  as  Will  and  Idea.”  The  trans- 


PREFACE 


IX 


lation  from  Beneke’s  “Natural  System  of  Morals”  offers  a 
psychological  basis  for  ethics,  in  his  distinctions  of  worth  sub- 
sisting among  psychical  functions.  Classical  extracts  illustrating 
Mill’s  utilitarianism,  Spencer’s  ethics  of  evolution,  and  Sidg- 
wick’s  philosophical  intuitionism  or  universalistic  hedonism, 
clearly  reveal  the  development  of  later  utilitarianism.  Similarly, 
vital  chapters  setting  forth  Bradley’s  self-realization.  Green’s 
development  of  the  moral  ideal,  and  Martineau’s  idiopsycholo- 
gical  ethics  present  in  a cumulative  way  the  most  fundamental 
principles  of  the  recent  ethics  of  intuitionism. 

The  foregoing  sketch  traces  the  attempt  made  in  this  work  to 
give  for  the  first  time  in  a single  volume,  selections  which  may 
serve  to  exhibit  nearly  in  chronological  order  the  chief  doctrines 
of  the  classical  moralists,  alike  in  ancient,  mediaeval,  and  modem 
ethics.  Numerous  texts  will  be  found  in  the  work,  that  are  dis- 
persed in  books  either  difficult  of  access  or  belonging  to  expen- 
sive sets.  Translations  of  the  ancient  classics  and  of  the  con- 
tinental moralists  have,  so  far  as  is  possible,  been  obtained  from 
writers  who  have  won  recognition  for  accuracy  and  literary  merit. 
In  this  book  appear  also  for  the  first  time  translations  from  the 
Latin,  in  part,  of  Abelard’s  “Ethics,  or  Know  Thyself”  and  of 
More’s  “Enchiridion  Ethicum,”  for  which  the  author  is  much 
indebted  to  the  courtesy  of  his  colleague.  Professor  Edward 
Kennard  Rand,  of  the  classical  department  in  Harvard  Uni- 
versity. An  important  chapter  from  the  German  of  Beneke’s 
“Natural  System  of  Morals”  has  been  translated  by  the  editor, 
w'ith  the  desire  to  secure  more  serious  study  of  a moralist  who  de- 
serves much  greater  recognition  than  he  has  heretofore  received. 
His  thanks  for  permission  to  reprint  selections  of  moralists  are 
also  due  various  publishers  and  translators,  wLose  names  will 
be  found  at  the  beginning  of  the  respective  chapters  accompany- 
ing the  titles  of  the  works  employed.  The  book  will  serve  its 
highest  end  if  its  representative  selections  shall  inspire  the  peru- 
sal of  the  complete  works  of  the  classical  moralists. 

Benjamin  Rand. 

Emerson  Hall,  Harvard  University. 


CONTENTS 


ANCIENT 

ER  PAGE 

SOCRATES  (469-399  B.  c.) 

From  XENOPHON’S  MEMORABILIA  OF  SOCRATES  1-19 
Translated  jrom  the  Greek  by  John  Selby  Watson. 

Book  III.  Chap.  VIII.  The  Good  and  Beautiful  . i 

Book  III.  Chap.  IX.  On  Virtues  and  Vices  . . 3 

Book  IV.  Chap.  II.  On  Self-Knowledge  ...  7 

Book  IV.  Chap.  VI.  The  Socratic  Method  . . 15 

PLATO  (427-347) 

THE  REPUBLIC 20-52 

Translated  jrom  the  Greek  by  Benjamin  Jowett. 

Book  I.  The  Function  of  the  Soul 20 

Book  IV.  The  Cardinal  Virtues 23 

Book  VI.  The  Idea  of  the  Good 37 

Book  VII.  The  Allegory  of  the  Cave  ....  45 

ARISTOTLE  (384-324) 

THE  NICOMACHEAN  ETHICS 53-91 

Translated  from  the  Greek  by  F.  H.  Peters 

Book  I.  The  Good  or  the  End 53 

Book  II.  Moral  Virtue 65 

Book  III.  The  Will 79 

Book  VI.  The  Intellectual  Virtues 84 

ZENO  (356-264) 

From  DIOGENES  LAERTIUS’  LIVES  AND  OPIN- 
IONS OF  EMINENT  PHILOSOPHERS  ....  92-109 

Translated  jrom  the  Greek  by  Charles  D.  Yonge. 

Book  VII.  The  Ethics  of  the  Stoics 92 

EPICURUS  (341-270) 

From  DIOGENES  LAERTIUS’  LIVES  AND  OPIN- 
IONS OF  EMINENT  PHILOSOPHERS  ....  110-121 
Translated  jrom  the  Greek  by  Charles  D.  Yonge. 

Book  X.  The  Epicurean  Ethics 


no 


CONTENTS 


xii 

VI.  TITUS  LUCRETIUS  CARUS  (95-51) 

ON  THE  NATURE  OF  THINGS 122-131 

Translated  from  the  Latin  by  H.  A.  J.  Munro. 

Book  II.  The  Tranquillity  of  the  Philosopher  122 

Book  III.  The  Fear  of  Death  Dispelled  . . . 124 

VII.  EPICTETUS  (60  A.  D.-?) 

THE  DISCOURSES  OF  EPICTETUS 132-143 

Translated  from  the  Greek  by  Thomas  Wentworth  Higginson. 

Book  I.  Chap.  I.  Of  the  Things  which  are,  and 
THE  Things  which  are  not,  in  our  own  Power  132 

Book  I.  Chap.  XXVI.  What  the  Rule  of  Life  is  134 

Book  II.  Chap.  VIII.  The  Essence  of  Good.  . 136 

Book  II.  Chap.  XI.  The  Beginning  of  Philosophy  139 

Book  III.  Chap.  III.  The  Chief  Concern  of  a 

Good  Man 141 

VIII.  MARCUS  AURELIUS  ANTONINUS  (121-180) 

MEDITATIONS 144-160 

Translated  from  the  Greek  by  George  Long. 

Book  II.  The  Ordering  of  Human  Life  ....  144 

Book  X.  Life  Conformable  to  Nature  ....  150 

IX.  PLOTINUS  (205-270) 

ENNEADES 161-175 

Translated  from  the  Greek  by  Thomas  Taylor. 

I.  On  the  Virtues 161 

XV.  On  the  Good,  or  the  One 167 

MEDIAEVAL 

X.  SAINT  AUGUSTINE  (354-430) 

THE  CITY  OF  GOD 176-185 

Translated  from  the  Latin  by  Marcus  Bods. 

Book  XII.  Chap.  V.  Every  Created  Nature 

Good 176 

Book  XII.  Chap.  VI.  The  Origin  of  Evil.  . . 176 

Book  XII.  Chap.  VII.  Evil  a Negation  ...  178 

Book  XIV.  Chap.  VI.  The  Character  of  the 

Human  Will i79 

Book  XIX.  Chap.  IV.  The  Christian  Idea  of 
THE  Supreme  Good  and  Evil 180 


CONTENTS  xHi 

XI.  PETER  ABELARD  (1079-1142) 

ETHICS,  OR  KNOW  THYSELF 186-191 

Translated  from  the  Latin  hy  Edward  Kennard  Rand. 

Prologue 186 

Chap.  I.  On  Vice  of  the  Mind 186 

Chap.  II.  The  Difference  between  Sin  and  the 

Vice  that  conduces  to  Evil 187 

Chap.  III.  What  is  properly  called  Sin  . . . 188 

Chap.  X.  A Multitude  of  Goods  not  Better  than 

ONE  Good 189 

Chap.  XI.  That  Good  Intention  makes  the  Act 

Good 190 

Chap.  XII.  For  what  Cause  Intention  may  be 

CALLED  Good 190 

XII.  THOMAS  AQUINAS  (1225-1274) 

SUMMA  THEOLOGIAE 192-205 

Translated  jrom  the  Latin  hy  Joseph  Rickaby. 

Question  LV.  Of  Virtues  in  their  Essence  . . 192 

Question  LVII.  Of  the  Various  Intellectual 

Virtues 192 

Question  LVIII.  Of  the  Distinction  of  Moral 

Virtues  from  Intellectual 196 

Question  LXI.  Of  the  Cardinal  Virtues  . . . 200 

Question  LXII.  Of  the  Theological  Virtues  . 202 

Question  LXIII.  Of  the  Cause  of  Virtues  . . 204 

MODERN 

XIII.  HUGO  GROTIUS  (1583-1645) 

THE  RIGHTS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE 206-212 

Translated  jrom  the  Latin  hy  Archibald  Colin  Campbell. 

Book  I.  Chap.  I.  What  Right  is 206 

XIV.  THOMAS  HOBBES  (1588-1679) 

LEVIATHAN 213-228 

Part  I.  Of  Man 

Chap.  VI.  Of  Voluntary  Motions;  commonly 

CALLED  Passions 213 

Chap.  XIII.  Of  the  Natural  Condition  of  Man- 
kind   217 

Chap.  XIV.  Of  the  First  and  Second  Natural 

Laws 221 

Chap.  XV.  Of  other  Laws  of  Nature  ....  223 


XIV 


CONTENTS 


XV.  RALPH  CUDWORTH  (1617-1688) 

A TREATISE  CONCERNING  ETERNAL  AND  IM- 
MUTABLE MORALITY 229-240 

Book  I.  Chap.  II.  Eternity  of  Good  and  Evil  . . 229 

Book  I.  Chap.  III.  Immutability  of  Good  and  Evil  235 

XVI.  HENRY  MORE  (1614-1687) 

ENCHIRIDION  ETHICUM  . . . .* 241-246 

Translated  jrom  the  Latin  by  Edward  Kennard  Rand. 

Chap.  I.  What  Ethics  is 241 

Chap.  II.  On  the  Divisions  of  Ethics  ....  241 

Chap.  III.  On  Virtue  and  Right  Reason  . . . 242 

Chap.  IV.  Noemata 242 

XVII.  RICHARD  CUMBERLAND  (1631-1718) 

A TREATISE  OF  THE  LAWS  OF  NATURE  . . 247-256 

Translated  jrom  the  Latin  by  John  Maxwell. 

Chap.  I.  Of  the  Nature  of  Things 247 

XVIII.  BARUCH  DE  SPINOZA  (1632-1677) 

THE  ETHICS  257-285 

Translated  jrom  the  Latin  by  R.  H.  M.  Elwes. 

Part  I.  Concerning  God  (Prop.  I. -VIII.,  XVI.- 

XVIII.,  XXIX.,  XXXII.-XXXVI.) 257 

Part  II.  Of  the  Nature  and  Origin  of  the  Mind 
(Prop.  I.-IIL,  XXXII.-XXXVI.,  XLI.-XLIL, 

XLIV.-XLV.,  XLVIII.-XLIX.) 268 

Part  V.  Of  the  Power  of  the  Understanding, 

OR  OF  Human  Freedom  (Prop.  I. -III.,  XXV.- 
XXXVIII.,  XL.-XLII.) 277 

XIX.  NICOLAS  MALEBRANCHE  (1638-1715) 

A TREATISE  OF  MORALITY 286-293 

Translated  jrom  the  French  by  James  Shipton. 

Chap.  I.  The  Immutable  Order 286 

XX.  JOHN  LOCKE  (1632-1704) 

AN  ESSAY  CONCERNING  HUMAN  UNDER- 
STANDING   294-309 

Book  I.  Chap.  III.  No  Innate  Practical  Principles  294 
Book  II.  Chap.  XX.  Of  Modes  of  Pleasure  and 

Pain 298 

Book  II.  Chap.  XXI.  Of  Power 299 

Book  II.  Chap.  XXVIII.  Of  other  Relations  . 305 


CONTENTS 


XV 


XXL  SAMUEL  CLARKE  (1675-1729) 

DISCOURSE  UPON  NATURAL  RELIGION  . . . 310-320 

XXII.  THIRD  EARL  OF  SHAFTESBURY  (1671- 

1713) 

AN  INQUIRY  CONCERNING  VIRTUE  OR 

MERIT 321-346 

Book  I.  Part  II.  Sect.  III.  What  Virtue  or 

Merit  is 321 

Book  II.  Part  I.  Sect.  I.  The  Obligation  to 

Virtue 325 

Book  II.  Part  I.  Sect.  III.  The  Affections  or 

Passions 328 

Book  II.  Part  II.  Sect.  I.  The  Natural  Affec- 
tions   331 

Book  II.  Part  II.  Sect.  II.  The  Self-Affections  337 
Book  II.  Part  II.  Sect.  III.  The  Unnatural  Af- 
fections   341 

Conclusion 344 

XXIII.  BERNARD  DE  MANDEVILLE  (1670-1733) 

AN  ENQUIRY  INTO  THE  ORIGIN  OF  MORAL 
VIRTUE 347-354 

XXIV.  WILLIAM  WOLLASTON  (1660-1724) 

THE  RELIGION  OF  NATURE  DELINEATED  . . 355-368 

Section  I.  Of  Moral  Good  and  Evil 355 

Section  II.  Of  Happiness 364 

XXV.  JOSEPH  BUTLER  (1692-1752) 

SERMONS  UPON  HUMAN  NATURE 369-393 

Preface 360 

Sermon  I.  Upon  the  Social  Nature  of  Man  . . 360 

Sermons  II.,  III.  Upon  the  Natural  Supremacy  of 
Conscience 378 

XXVI.  FRANCIS  HUTCHESON  (1694-1747) 

AN  INQUIRY  CONCERNING  MORAL  GOOD  AND 

EVIL 394-417 

Section  I.  Of  the  Moral  Sense  by  which  we  per- 
ceive Virtue  and  Vice 394 

Section  II.  Concerning  the  Immediate  Motive  to 

Virtuous  Actions 400 

Section  III.  The  Sense  of  Virtue  reducible  to  one 
General  Found.ation 410 


XVI 


CONTENTS 


XXVII.  DAVID  HARTLEY  (1705-1757) 

OBSERVATIONS  ON  MAN,  HIS  FRAME,  HIS 

DUTY,  AND  HIS  EXPECTATIONS 418-426 

Part  I.  Introduction 418 

Part  I.  Chap.  I.  Section  II.  The  Formation  of 

Complex  Ideas  by  Association 419 

Part  I.  Chap.  IV.  Section  VI.  The  Pleasures 
AND  Pains  of  the  Moral  Sense 421 

XXVTII.  DAVID  HUME  (1711-1776) 

AN  ENQUIRY  CONCERNING  THE  PRINCIPLES 

OF  MORALS 427-442 

Section  I.  Of  the  General  Principles  of  Morals.  427 

Section  II.  Of  Benevolence 428 

Section  III.  Of  Justice 433 

Section  IX.  Personal  Merit 438 

XXIX.  ADAM  SMITH  (1723-1790) 

THE  THEORY  OF  MORAL  SENTIMENTS  . . . 443-470 
Part  I.  Of  the  Propriety  of  Action 

Section  I.  Chap.  I.  Of  Sympathy 443 

Section  I.  Chap.  IV.  Of  Judgment  of  Propriety 

OR  Impropriety  of  the  Affections 447 

Part  II.  Or  Merit  and  Demerit 
Section  I.  Chap.  I.  Of  Reward  and  Punishment  450 
Section  I.  Chap.  II.  Of  the  Proper  Objects  of 

Gratitude  and  Resentment 452 

Section  I.  Chap.  IV.  Recapitulation 454 

Part  III.  Of  the  Foundation  of  our  Judgments  con- 
cerning OUR  OWN  Sentiments  and  Conduct 
Chap.  I.  Of  Self-Approbation  and  of  Self-Disap- 
probation   455 

Chap.  IV.  Of  the  Nature  of  Self-Deceit  . . . 459 

Part  IV.  Of  the  Effect  of  Utility  upon  the  Senti- 
ment OF  Approbation 

Chap.  II.  Of  the  Beauty  which  the  Appearance 
OF  Utility  bestows  upon  the  Characters  and 
Actions  of  Men 463 

XXX.  CLAUDE  ADRIEN  HELV^TIUS  (1715- 
1771) 

DE  L’ESPRIT,  OR,  ESSAYS  ON  THE  MIND  . . 471-478 

Translated  from  the  French  by  William  Mudford. 

Essay  II.  Probity 

Chap.  II.  Of  Probity  in  Relation  to  the  Individual  471 

Chap.  XI.  Of  Probity  in  Relation  to  the  Public  474 

Chap.  XIII.  Of  Probity  in  Relation  to  Various 
Ages  and  Nations 475 


CONTENTS  xvli 

XXXI.  WILLIAM  PALEY  (1743-1805) 

THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  MORAL  AND  POLITICAL 
PHILOSOPHY 479-482 

XXXII.  JEREMY  BENTHAM  (1748-1832) 

AN  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  PRINCIPLES  OF 
MORALS  AND  LEGISLATION 483-508 

Chap.  I.  Of  the  Principle  of  Utility  ....  483 

Chap.  II.  Of  Principles  Adverse  to  that  of 

Utility 488 

Chap.  III.  The  Sanctions  of  Pain  and  Pleasure  494 
Chap.  IV.  The  Measurement  of  Value  of  Plea- 
sure OR  Pain 496 

Chap.  X.  Motives 499 

Chap.  XL  Of  Human  Dispositions  in  General  . 507 

XXXIII.  RICHARD  PRICE  (1723-1791) 

A REVIEW  OF  THE  PRINCIPAL  QUESTIONS  IN 
MORALS 509-523 

Chap.  I.  Of  the  Origin  of  our  Ideas  of  Moral 

Right  and  Wrong 509 

Chap.  II.  Of  our  Ideas  of  the  Beauty  and  Deform- 
ity OF  Actions 519 

XXXIV.  THOMAS  REID  (1710-1796) 

ESSAYS  ON  THE  ACTIVE  POWERS  OF  MAN  . . 524-538 

Essay  III.  Chap.  VI.  Of  the  Sense  of  Duty  . . 524 

Essay  V.  Chap.  I.  Of  the  First  Principles  of 
Morals 530 

XXXV.  IMMANUEL  KANT  (1724-1804) 

THE  METAPHYSIC  OF  MORALITY 5,39-564 

Selections  translated  jrom  the  German  by  John  Watson. 

Section  I.  Transition  from  Ordinary  Moral  Con- 
ceptions TO  THE  Philosophical  Conception  of 

Morality 539 

Section  II.  Transition  from  Popular  Moral  Phi- 
losophy TO  THE  Metaphysic  of  Morality  . . 544 

Section  III.  Transition  from  the  Metaphysic 
OF  Morality  to  the  Critique  of  Practical 
Reason 558 


xviii  CONTENTS 

XXXVL  JOHANN  GOTTLIEB  FICHTE  (1762- 
1814) 

THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 565-585 

Translated  from  the  German  by  A.  E.  Kroeger. 

Book  I.  Deduction  of  the  Principle  of  Morality  565 

XXXVII.  GEORG  WILHELM  FRIEDRICH 
HEGEL  (1770-1831) 

PHILOSOPHY  OF  RIGHT 586-610 

Translated  from  the  German  by  S.  W.  Dyde. 

Introduction 586 

Division  of  the  Work 594 

First  Part.  Abstract  Right 595 

Second  Part.  Morality 599 

Third  Part.  The  Ethical  System 605 

XXXVIII.  ARTHUR  SCHOPENHAUER  (1788-1860) 

THE  WORLD  AS  WILL  AND  IDEA 611-625 

Translated  from  the  German  by  R.  B.  Haldane  andJ.  Kemp. 

Book  IV.  The  Assertion  and  Denial  of  the  Will  61  i 

XXXIX.  FRIEDRICH  EDUARD  BENEKE  (1798- 
1854) 

THE  NATURAL  SYSTEM  OF  MORALS  ....  626-646 

Translated  from  the  German  by  Benjamin  Rand. 

Chap.  III.  The  Fundamental  Norms  of  Morals  . 626 

XL.  JOHN  STUART  MILL  (1806-1873) 

UTILITARIANISM 647-676 

Chap.  II.  What  Utilitarianism  is 647 

Chap.  III.  Of  the  Ultimate  Sanction  of  the  Prin- 
ciple OF  Utility 660 

Chap.  IV.  Of  what  Sort  of  Proof  the  Principle  of 
Utility  is  Susceptible 669 

XLI.  HERBERT  SPENCER  (1820-1903) 

THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  ETHICS  677-702 

Part  I.  The  Data  of  Ethics 
Chap.  II.  The  Evolution  of  Conduct  ....  677 

Chap.  XV.  Absolute  Ethics  and  Relative  Ethics  687 


CONTENTS 


XIX 


XLII.  HENRY  SIDGWICK  (1838-1900) 

THE  METHODS  OF  ETHICS 703-719 

Book  III.  Chap.  XIV.  Ultimate  Good  ....  703 

XLIII.  FRANCIS  HERBERT  BRADLEY 
(1846 ) 

ETHICAL  STUDIES 720-739 

Essay  II.  Why  Should  I be  Moral? 720 

XLIV.  THOMAS  HILL  GREEN  (1836-1882) 

PROLEGOMENA  TO  ETHICS 740-759 

Book  III.  The  Moral  Ideal  and  Moral  Progress 
Chap.  II.  Characteristics  of  the  Moral  Ideal  . 740 

XLV.  JAMES  MARTINEAU  (1805-1900) 

TYPES  OF  ETHICAL  THEORY 760-790 

Part  II.  Book  I.  Idiopsychological  Ethics 

Chap.  I.  Fundamental  Ethical  Fact 760 

Chap.  IV.  Nature  of  Moral  Authority  ....  773 

Chaps.  V.-VI.  Springs  of  Action  Classified  . . 780 

INDEX  791 


THE  CLASSICAL 
MORALISTS 


SOCRATES 

(469-399  B.C.) 

From  XENOPHON’S  MEMORABILIA 
OF  SOCRATES 

Translated  from  the  Greek  * by 
JOHN  SELBY  WATSON 

BOOK  III.  CHAPTER  VIII.  ON  THE  GOOD  AND 
BEAUTIEUL 

1.  When  Aristippus  attempted  to  confute  Socrates,  as  he  him- 
self had  previously  been  confuted  by  him,  Socrates,  wishing  to 
benefit  those  who  were  with  him,  gave  his  answers,  not  like  those 
who  are  on  their  guard  lest  their  words  be  perverted,  but  like 
those  who  are  persuaded  that  they  ought  above  all  things  to  do 
what  is  right.  2.  What  Aristippus  had  asked  him,  was,  “ whether 
he  knew  anything  good,”  in  order  that  if  he  should  say  any 
such  thing  as  food,  or  drink,  or  money,  or  health,  or  strength, 
or  courage,  he  might  prove  that  it  was  sometimes  an  evil.  But 
Socrates,  reflecting  that  if  anything  troubles  us,  we  want  some- 
thing to  relieve  us  from  it,  replied,  as  it  seemed  best  to  do, 
“Do  you  ask  me  whether  I know  anything  good  for  a fever?” 
3.  “I  do  not.”  “Anything  good  for  soreness  of  the  eyes?” 
“No.”  “For  hunger?”  “No,  nor  for  hunger  either.”  “Well 
then,”  concluded  Socrates,  “if  you  ask  me  whether  I know 
anything  good  that  is  good  for  nothing,  I neither  know  any- 
thing, nor  wish  to  know.” 

* From  a fvoipwiiros  ^wKpdrovs  'Airo/jivrip.ovevixaTa.  Reprinted  from  Xenophon's 
Memorabilia  of  Socrates,  translated  by  J.  S.  Watson,  London,  1859. 


2 


SOCRATES 


4.  Aristippus  again  asking  him  if  he  knew  anything  beauti- 
ful, he  replied,  “Many  things.”  “Are  they  then,”  inquired  Aris- 
tippus, “all  like  each  other?”  “Some  of  them,”  answered  Soc- 
rates, “are  as  unlike  one  another  as  it  is  possible  for  them  to  be.” 
“How  then,”  said  he,  “can  what  is  beautiful  be  unlike  what  is 
beautiful?”  “Because,  assuredly,”  replied  Socrates,  “one  man, 
who  is  beautifully  formed  for  wrestling,  is  unlike  another  who  is 
beautifully  formed  for  running;  and  a shield,  which  is  beautifully 
formed  for  defence,  is  as  unlike  as  possible  to  a dart,  which 
is  beautifully  formed  for  being  forcibly  and  swiftly  hurled.” 
5.  “You  answer  me,”  said  Aristippus,  “in  the  same  manner  as 
when  I asked  you  whether  you  knew  anything  good.”  “And  do 
you  imagine,”  said  Socrates,  “that  the  good  is  one  thing,  and  the 
beautiful  another?  Do  you  not  know  that  with  reference  to  the 
same  objects  all  things  are  both  beautiful  and  good?  Virtue,  for 
instance,  is  not  good  with  regard  to  some  things  and  beautiful 
with  regard  to  others;  and  persons,  in  the  same  way,  are  called 
beautiful  and  good  with  reference  to  the  same  objects;  and 
human  bodies,  too,  with  reference  to  the  same  objects,  appear 
beautiful  and  good;  and  in  like  manner  all  other  things,  what- 
ever men  use,  are  considered  beautiful  and  good  with  reference 
to  the  objects  for  which  they  are  serviceable.”  6.  “Can  a dung- 
basket,  then,”  said  Aristippus,  “ be  a beautiful  thing  ? ” “Yes,  by 
Jupiter,”  returned  Socrates,  “and  a golden  shield  may  be  an  ugly 
thing,  if  the  one  be  beautifully  formed  for  its  particular  uses,  and 
the  other  ill  formed  ? ” 7.  “ Do  you  say,  then,  that  the  same  things 
may  be  both  beautiful  and  ugly?”  “Yes,  undoubtedly,  and  also 
that  they  may  be  good  and  bad ; for  oftentimes  what  is  good  for 
hunger  is  bad  for  a fever,  and  what  is  good  for  a fever  is  bad  for 
hunger;  oftentimes  what  is  beautiful  in  regard  to  running  is  the 
reverse  in  regard  to  wrestling,  and  what  is  beautiful  in  regard  to 
wrestling  is  the  reverse  in  regard  to  running;  for  whatever  is 
good  is  also  beautiful,  in  regard  to  purposes  for  which  it  is  well 
adapted,  and  whatever  is  bad  is  the  reverse  of  beautiful,  in  re- 
gard to  purposes  for  which  it  is  ill  adapted.” 

8.  When  Socrates  said,  too,  that  the  same  houses  that  were 
beautiful  were  also  useful,  he  appeared  to  me  to  instruct  us  what 


XENOPHON’S  MEMORABILIA 


3 


sort  of  houses  we  ought  to  build.  He  reasoned  on  the  subject 
thus,  “Should  not  he  who  purposes  to  have  a house  such  as  it 
ought  to  be,  contrive  that  it  may  be  most  pleasant,  and  at  the  same 
time  most  useful,  to  live  in  ? ” 9.  This  being  admitted,  he  said, 
“Is  it  not  then  pleasant  to  have  it  cool  in  summer,  and  warm  in 
winter?”  When  his  hearers  had  assented  to  this,  he  said,  “In 
houses,  then,  that  look  to  the  south,  does  not  the  sun,  in  the  win- 
ter, shine  into  the  porticoes,  while,  in  the  summer,  it  passes  over 
our  heads,  and  above  the  roof,  and  casts  a shade?  If  it  is  well, 
therefore,  that  houses  should  thus  be  made,  ought  we  not  to  build 
the  parts  towards  the  south  higher,  that  the  sun  in  winter  may 
not  be  shut  out,  and  the  parts  toward  the  north  lower,  that  the 
cold  winds  may  not  fall  violently  on  them?  10.  To  sum  up  the 
matter  briefly,  that  would  be  the  most  pleasant  and  the  most 
beautiful  residence,  in  which  the  owner,  at  all  seasons,  would  find 
the  most  satisfactory  retreat,  and  deposit  what  belongs  to  him 
with  the  greatest  safety.” 

Paintings,  and  coloured  decorations  of  the  walls,  deprive  us, 
he  thought,  of  more  pleasure  than  they  give. 

The  most  suitable  ground  for  temples  and  altars,  he  said,  was 
such  as  was  most  open  to  view,  and  least  trodden  by  the  public ; 
for  that  it  was  pleasant  for  people  to  pray  as  they  looked  on  them, 
and  pleasant  to  approach  them  in  purity. 


CHAPTER  IX.  ON  VIRTUES  AND  VICES 

I.  Being  asked,  again,  whether  Fortitude  was  a quality  acquired 
by  education,  or  bestowed  by  nature,  “I  think,”  said  he,  “that 
as  one  body  is  by  nature  stronger  for  enduring  toil  than  another 
body,  so  one  mind  may  be  by  nature  more  courageous  in  meeting 
dangers  than  another  mind ; for  I see  that  men  who  are  brought 
up  under  the  same  laws  and  institutions  differ  greatly  from  each 
other  in  courage.  2.  I am  of  opinion,  however,  that  every  natu- 
ral disposition  may  be  improved,  as  to  fortitude,  by  training  and 
exercise;  for  it  is  evident  that  the  Scythians  and  Thracians  would 
not  dare  to  take  bucklers  and  spears  and  fight  with  the  Lace- 


4 


SOCRATES 


daemonians;  and  it  is  certain  that  the  Lacedaemonians  would  not 
like  to  fight  the  Thracians  with  small  shields  and  javelins,  or  the 
Scythians  with  bows.  3.  In  other  things,  also,  I see  that  men 
differ  equally  from  one  another  by  nature,  and  make  great  im- 
provements by  practice;  from  which  it  is  evident  that  it  concerns 
all,  as  well  the  naturally  ingenious  as  the  naturally  dull,  to  learn 
and  study  those  arts  in  which  they  desire  to  become  worthy  of 
commendation.” 

4.  Prudence  and  Temperance  he  did  not  distinguish;  for  he 
deemed  that  he  who  knew  what  was  honourable  and  good,  and 
how  to  practise  it,  and  who  knew  what  was  dishonourable,  and 
how  to  avoid  it,  was  both  prudent  and  temperate.  Being  also 
asked  whether  he  thought  that  those  who  knew  what  they  ought 
to  do,  but  did  the  contrary,  were  prudent  and  temperate,  he 
replied,  “No  more  than  I think  the  [openly]  imprudent  and 
intemperate  to  be  so;  for  I consider  that  all  [prudent  and  tem- 
perate] persons  choose  from  what  is  possible  what  they  judge 
for  their  interest,  and  do  it;  and  I therefore  deem  those  who  do 
not  act  [thus]  judiciously  to  be  neither  prudent  nor  temperate.” 

5.  He  said,  too,  that  justice,  and  every  other  virtue,  was  [a 
part  of]  prudence,  for  that  everything  just,  and  everything  done 
agreeably  to  virtue,  was  honourable  and  good;  that  those  who 
could  discern  those  things,  would  never  prefer  anything  else  to 
them ; that  those  who  could  not  discern  them,  would  never  be  able 
to  do  them,  but  would  even  go  wrong  if  they  attempted  to  do 
them ; and  that  the  prudent,  accordingly,  did  what  was  honour- 
able and  good,  but  that  the  imprudent  could  not  do  it,  but  went 
wrong  even  if  they  attempted  to  do  it;  and  that  since,  therefore, 
all  just  actions,  and  all  actions  that  are  honourable  and  good, 
are  done  in  agreement  with  virtue,  it  is  manifest  that  justice,  and 
every  other  virtue,  is  [comprehended  in]  prudence. 

6.  The  opposite  to  prudence,  he  said,  was  Madness;  he  did 
not,  however,  regard  ignorance  as  madness;  though  for  a man 
to  be  ignorant  of  himself,  and  to  fancy  and  believe  that  he  knew 
what  he  did  not  know,  he  considered  to  be  something  closely 
bordering  on  madness.  The  multitude,  he  observed,  do  not  say 
that  those  are  mad  who  make  mistakes  in  matters  of  which  most 


XENOPHON’S  MEMORABILIA 


5 


people  are  ignorant,  but  call  those  only  mad  who  make  mistakes 
in  affairs  with  which  most  people  are  acquainted ; 7.  for  if  a man 
should  think  himself  so  tall  as  to  stoop  when  going  through  the 
gates  in  the  city  wall,  or  so  strong  as  to  try  to  lift  up  houses,  or 
attempt  anything  else  that  is  plainly  impossible  to  all  men,  they 
say  that  he  is  mad;  but  those  who  make  mistakes  in  small  mat- 
ters are  not  thought  by  the  multitude  to  be  mad ; but  just  as  they 
call  “strong  desire”  “love,”  so  they  call  “great  disorder  of  in- 
tellect” “madness.” 

8.  Considering  what  Envy  was,  he  decided  it  to  be  a certain 
uneasiness,  not  such  as  arises,  however,  at  the  ill  success  of 
friends,  nor  such  as  is  felt  at  the  good  success  of  enemies,  but 
those  only  he  said  were  envious  who  were  annoyed  at  the  good 
success  of  their  friends.  When  some  expressed  surprise,  that  any 
one  who  had  a friendly  feeling  for  another  should  feel  uneasy  at 
his  good  fortune,  he  reminded  them  that  many  are  so  disposed 
towards  others  as  to  be  incapable  of  neglecting  them  if  they  are 
unfortunate,  but  would  relieve  them  in  ill  fortune,  though  they 
are  uneasy  at  their  good  fortune.  This  feeling,  he  said,  could 
never  arise  in  the  breast  of  a sensible  man,  but  that  the  foolish 
were  constantly  affected  with  it. 

9.  Considering  what  Idleness  was,  he  said  that  he  found  most 
men  did  something;  for  that  dice-players  and  buffoons  did  some- 
thing; but  he  said  that  all  such  persons  were  idle,  for  it  was  in 
their  power  to  go  and  do  something  better;  he  observed  that  a 
man  was  not  idle,  however,  in  passing  from  a better  employment 
to  a worse,  but  that,  if  he  did  so,  he,  as  he  [previously]  had  occu- 
pation, acted  in  that  respect  viciously. 

10.  Kings  and  Commanders,  he  said,  were  not  those  who  held 
sceptres  merely,  or  those  elected  by  the  multitude,  or  those  who 
gained  authority  by  lot,  or  those  who  attained  it  by  violence  or  de- 
ceit, but  those  who  knew  how  to  command,  ii.  For  when  some 
one  admitted  that  it  was  the  part  of  a commander  to  enjoin  what 
another  should  do,  and  the  part  of  him  who  was  commanded,  to 
obey,  he  showed  that  in  a ship  the  skilful  man  is  the  commander, 
and  that  the  owner  and  all  the  other  people  in  the  ship  were 
obedient  to  the  man  of  knowledge;  that,  in  agriculture,  those 


6 


SOCRATES 


who  had  farms,  in  sickness,  those  who  were  ill,  in  bodily  exercises, 
those  who  practised  them,  and  indeed  all  other  people,  who  had 
any  business  requiring  care,  personally  took  the  management  of 
it  if  they  thought  that  they  understood  it,  but  if  not,  that  they 
were  not  only  ready  to  obey  men  of  knowledge  who  were  pre- 
sent, but  even  sent  for  such  as  were  absent,  in  order  that,  by 
yielding  to  their  directions,  they  might  do  what  was  proper.  In 
spinning,  too,  he  pointed  out  that  women  commanded  men,  as 
the  one  knew  how  to  spin,  and  the  other  did  not  know.  12.  But 
if  any  one  remarked  in  reply  to  these  observations,  that  a tyrant 
is  at  liberty  not  to  obey  judicious  advisers,  he  would  say,  “And 
how  is  he  at  liberty  not  to  obey,  when  a penalty  hangs  over  him 
that  does  not  obey  a wise  monitor  ? for  in  whatever  affair  a per- 
son does  not  obey  a prudent  adviser,  he  will  doubtless  err,  and, 
by  erring,  will  incur  a penalty.”  13.  If  any  one  also  observed 
that  a tyrant  might  put  to  death  a wise  counsellor,  “And  do  you 
think,”  he  would  say,  “that  he  who  puts  to  death  the  best  of  his 
allies  will  go  unpunished,  or  that  he  will  be  exposed  only  to  cas- 
ual punishment  ? Whether  do  you  suppose  that  a man  who  acts 
thus  would  live  in  safety,  or  would  be  likely,  rather,  by  such  con- 
duct, to  bring  immediate  destruction  on  himself?” 

14.  When  some  one  asked  him  what  object  of  study  he  thought 
best  for  a man,  he  replied,  “good  conduct.”  When  he  asked  him 
again  whether  he  thought  “good  fortune”  an  object  of  study, 
he  answered,  “‘Fortune’  and  ‘Conduct’  I think  entirely  op- 
posed ; for,  for  a person  to  light  on  anything  that  he  wants  with- 
out seeking  it,  I consider  to  be  ‘good  fortune,’  but  to  achieve  any- 
thing successfully  by  learning  and  study,  I regard  as  ‘ good  con- 
duct;’ and  those  who  make  this  their  object  of  study  appear  to 
me  to  do  well.” 

15.  The  best  men,  and  those  most  beloved  by  the  gods,  he 
observed,  were  those  who,  in  agriculture,  performed  their  agri- 
cultural duties  well,  those  who,  in  medicine,  performed  their 
medical  duties  well,  and  those  who,  in  political  offices,  performed 
their  public  duties  well;  but  he  who  did  nothing  well,  he  said, 
was  neither  useful  for  any  purpose,  nor  acceptable  to  the  gods. 


XENOPHON’S  MEMORABILIA 


7 


BOOK  IV.  CHAPTER  II.  ON  SELF-KNOWLEDGE 

I.  I will  now  show  how  Socrates  addressed  himself  to  such  as 
thought  that  they  had  attained  the  highest  degree  of  knowledge, 
and  prided  themselves  on  their  ability.  Hearing  that  Euthyde- 
mus,  surnamed  the  Handsome,  had  collected  many  writings  of 
the  most  celebrated  poets  and  sophists,  and  imagined  that  by 
that  means  he  was  outstripping  his  contemporaries  in  accom- 
plishments, and  had  great  hopes  that  he  would  excel  them  all  in 
talent  for  speaking  and  acting,  and  finding,  by  his  first  inquiries 
about  him,  that  he  had  not  yet  engaged  in  public  affairs  on  ac- 
count of  his  youth,  but  that,  when  he  wished  to  do  any  business, 
he  usually  sat  in  a bridle-maker’s  shop  near  the  Forum,  he  went 
himself  to  it,  accompanied  by  some  of  his  hearers;  2.  and  as 
somebody  asked,  first  of  all,  “whether  it  was  from  his  intercourse 
with  some  of  the  wise  men,  or  from  his  own  natural  talents,  that 
Themistocles  attained  such  a pre-eminence  above  his  fellow- 
citizens,  that  the  republic  looked  to  him  whenever  it  wanted  the 
service  of  a man  of  ability,”  Socrates,  wishing  to  excite  the  atten- 
tion of  Euthydemus,  said  that  “it  was  absurd  to  believe  that  men 
could  not  become  skilled  in  the  lowest  mechanical  arts  without 
competent  instructors,  and  to  imagine  that  ability  to  govern  a 
state,  the  most  important  of  all  arts,  might  spring  up  in  men  by 
the  unassisted  efforts  of  nature.” 

8.  Socrates  used  at  first  to  make  such  remarks,  while  Euthy- 
demus merely  listened;  but  when  he  observed  that  he  stayed, 
while  he  conversed,  with  more  willingness,  and  hearkened  to 
him  with  more  attention,  he  at  last  came  to  the  bridle-maker’s 
shop  unattended.  As  Euthydemus  sat  down  beside  him,  he  said, 
“Tell  me,  Euthydemus,  have  you  really,  as  I hear,  collected 
many  of  the  writings  of  men  who  are  said  to  have  been  wise?” 
“I  have  indeed,  Socrates,”  replied  he,  “and  I am  still  collect- 
ing, intending  to  persevere  till  I get  as  many  as  I possibly  can.” 
9.  “By  Juno,”  rejoined  Socrates,  “I  feel  admiration  for  you, 
because  you  have  not  preferred  acquiring  treasures  of  silver  and 
gold  rather  than  of  wisdom;  for  it  is  plain  you  consider  that  sil- 


8 


SOCRATES 


ver  and  gold  are  unable  to  make  men  better,  but  that  the  thoughts 
of  wise  men  enrich  their  possessors  with  virtue.”  Euthydemus 
was  delighted  to  hear  this  commendation,  believing  that  he  was 
thought  by  Socrates  to  have  sought  wisdom  in  the  right  course, 
lo.  Socrates,  observing  that  he  was  gratified  with  the  praise, 
said,  “And  in  what  particular  art  do  you  wish  to  become  skil- 
ful, that  you  collect  these  writings  ? ” As  Euthydemus  continued 
silent,  considering  what  reply  he  should  make,  Socrates  again 
asked,  “ Do  you  wish  to  become  a physician  ? for  there  are  many 
writings  of  physicians.”  “Not  I,  by  Jupiter,”  replied  Euthy- 
demus. “Do  you  wish  to  become  an  architect,  then?  for  a man 
of  knowledge  is  needed  for  that  art  also.”  “No,  indeed,”  an- 
swered he.  “Do  you  wish  to  become  a good  geometrician,  like 
Theodorus?”  “Nor  a geometrician  either,”  said  he.  “Do  you 
wish  then  to  become  an  astronomer?”  said  Socrates.  As  Eu- 
thydemus said  “No,”  to  this,  “Do  you  wish  then,”  added  Socra- 
tes, “to  become  a rhapsodist,  for  they  say  that  you  are  in  pos- 
session of  all  the  poems  of  Homer  ? ” “ No  indeed,”  said  he,  “ for 
I know  that  the  rhapsodists,  though  eminently  knowing  in  the 
poems  of  Homer,  are,  as  men,  extremely  foolish.”  ii.  “You  are 
perhaps  desirous  then,”  proceeded  Socrates,  “of  attaining  that 
talent  by  which  men  become  skilled  in  governing  states,  in  man- 
aging households,  able  to  command,  and  qualified  to  benefit 
other  men  as  well  as  themselves.”  “I  indeed  greatly  desire,” 
said  he,  “Socrates,  to  acquire  that  talent.”  “By  Jupiter,”  re- 
turned Socrates,  “you  aspire  to  a most  honourable  accomplish- 
ment, and  a most  exalted  art,  for  it  is  the  art  of  kings,  and  is 
called  the  royal  art.  But,”  added  he,  “have  you  ever  considered 
whether  it  is  possible  for  a man  who  is  not  just  to  be  eminent  in 
that  art?”  “I  have  certainly,”  replied  he;  “and  it  i^  not  possible 
for  a man  to  be  even  a good  citizen  without  justice.”  12.  “Have 
you  yourself,  then,  made  yourself  master  of  that  virtue?”  “I 
think,”  said  he,  “ Socrates,  that  I shall  be  found  not  less  just  than 
any  other  man.”  “Are  there  then  works  of  just  men,  as  there 
are  works  of  artisans?”  “There  are,  doubtless,”  replied  he. 
“Then,”  said  Socrates,  “as  artisans  are  able  to  show  their  works, 
would  not  just  men  be  able  also  to  tell  their  works?”  “And  why 


XENOPHON’S  MEMORABILIA 


9 


should  not  I,”  asked  Euthydemus,  “be  able  to  tell  the  works  of 
justice;  as  also  indeed  those  of  injustice;  for  we  may  see  and  hear 
of  no  small  number  of  them  every  day?” 

13.  “Are  you  willing  then,”  said  Socrates,  “that  we  should 
make  a delta  on  this  side,  and  an  alpha  on  that,  and  then  that 
we  should  put  whatever  seems  to  us  to  be  a work  of  justice  under 
the  delta,  and  whatever  seems  to  be  a work  of  injustice  under  the 
alpha?”  “If  you  think  that  we  need  those  letters,”  said  Euthy- 
demus, “make  them.”  14.  Socrates,  having  made  the  letters  as 
he  proposed,  asked,  “Does  falsehood  then  exist  among  man- 
kind?” “It  does  assuredly,”  replied  he.  “Under  which  head 
shall  we  place  it?”  “Under  injustice,  certainly.”  “Does  deceit 
also  exist?”  “Unquestionably.”  “Under  which  head  shall  we 
place  that?”  “Evidently  under  injustice.”  “Does  mischievous- 
ness exist?”  “Undoubtedly.”  “And  the  enslaving  of  men?” 
“That,  too,  prevails.”  “And  shall  neither  of  these  things  be 
placed  by  us  under  justice,  Euthydemus  ?”  “ It  would  be  strange 
if  they  should  be,”  said  he.  15.  “But,”  said  Socrates,  “if  a man, 
being  chosen  to  lead  an  army,  should  reduce  to  slavery  an  un- 
just and  hostile  people,  should  we  say  that  he  committed  injus- 
tice?” “No,  certainly,”  replied  he.  “ Should  we  not  rather  say 
that  he  acted  justly?”  “Indisputably.”  “And  if,  in  the  course 
of  the  war  with  them,  he  should  practise  deceit?”  “That  also 
would  be  just,”  said  he.  “And  if  he  should  steal  and  carry  off 
their  property,  would  he  not  do  what  was  just?”  “Certainly,” 
said  Euthydemus;  “but  I thought  at  first  that  you  asked  these 
questions  only  with  reference  to  our  friends.”  “-Then,”  said 
Socrates,  “all  that  we  have  placed  under  the  head  of  injustice,  we 
must  also  place  under  that  of  justice?”  “It  seems  so,”  replied 
Euthydemus.  16.  “Do  you  agree,  then,”  continued  Socrates, 
“that,  having  so  placed  them,  we  should  make  a new  distinction, 
that  it  is  just  to  do  such  things  with  regard  to  enemies,  but  un- 
just to  do  them  with  regard  to  friends,  and  that  towards  his 
friends  our  general  should  be  as  guileless  as  possible?”  “By  all 
means,”  replied  Euthydemus.  17.  “Well,  then,”  said  Socrates, 
“if  a general,  seeing  his  army  dispirited,  should  tell  them,  invent- 
ing a falsehood,  that  auxiliaries  were  coming,  and  should,  by  that 


10 


SOCRATES 


invention,  check  the  despondency  of  his  troops,  under  which 
head  should  we  place  such  an  act  of  deceit?”  “It  appears  to 
me,”  said  Euthydemus,  “that  we  must  place  it  under  justice.” 
“And  if  a father,  when  his  son  requires  medicine,  and  refuses  to 
take  it,  should  deceive  him,  and  give  him  the  medicine  as  ordi- 
nary food,  and,  by  adopting  such  deception,  should  restore  him 
to  health,  under  which  head  must  we  place  such  an  act  of  de- 
ceit?” “It  appears  to  me  that  we  must  put  it  imder  the  same 
head.”  “And  if  a person,  when  his  friend  was  in  despondency, 
should,  through  fear  that  he  might  kill  himself,  steal  or  take 
away  his  sword,  or  any  other  weapon,  under  which  head  must  we 
place  that  act  ? ” “ That,  assuredly,  we  must  place  under  justice.” 
i8.  “You  say,  then,”  said  Socrates,  “that  not  even  towards  our 
friends  must  we  act  on  all  occasions  without  deceit?”  “We  must 
not  indeed,”  said  he,  “for  I retract  what  I said  before,  if  I maj 
be  permitted  to  do  so.”  “ It  is  indeed  much  better  that  you  should 
be  permitted,”  said  Socrates,  “than  that  you  should  not  place 
actions  on  the  right  side.  19.  But  of  those  who  deceive  their 
friends  in  order  to  injure  them  (that  we  may  not  leave  even  this 
point  unconsidered),  which  of  the  two  is  the  more  unjust,  he  who 
does  so  intentionally  or  he  who  does  so  involuntarily?”  “In- 
deed, Socrates,”  said  Euthydemus,  “I  no  longer  put  confidence 
in  the  answers  which  I give;  for  all  that  I said  before  appears  to 
me  now  to  be  quite  different  from  what  I then  thought;  however, 
let  me  venture  to  say  that  he  who  deceives  intentionally  is  more 
unjust  than  he  who  deceives  involuntarily.” 

20.  “ Does  it  appear  to  you,  then,  that  there  is  a way  of  learn- 
ing and  knowing  what  is  just,  as  there  is  of  learning  and  know- 
ing how  to  read  and  write?”  “I  think  there  is.”  “And  which 
should  you  consider  the  better  scholar,  him  who  should  pur- 
posely write  or  read  incorrectly,  or  him  who  should  do  so  un- 
awares?” “Him  who  should  do  so  purposely,  for,  whenever  he 
pleased,  he  would  be  able  to  do  both  correctly.”  “He,  there- 
fore, that  purposely  writes  incorrectly  may  be  a good  scholar,  but 
he  who  does  so  involuntarily  is  destitute  of  scholarship?”  “How 
can  it  be  otherwise?”  “And  whether  does  he  who  lies  and 
deceives  intentionally  know  what  is  just,  or  he  who  does  so 


XENOPHON’S  MEMORABILIA 


II 


unawares?”  “Doubtless  he  who  does  so  intentionally.”  “You 
therefore  say  that  he  who  knows  how  to  write  and  read  is  a bet- 
ter scholar  than  he  who  does  not  know?”  “Yes.”  “And  that 
he  who  knows  what  is  just  is  more  just  than  he  who  does  not 
know?”  “I  seem  to  say  so;  but  I appear  to  myself  to  say  this 
I know  not  how.”  21.  “But  what  would  you  think  of  the  man, 
who,  wishing  to  tell  the  truth,  should  never  give  the  same  account 
of  the  same  thing,  but,  in  speaking  of  the  same  road,  should  say 
at  one  time  that  it  led  towards  the  east,  and  at  another  towards 
the  west,  and,  in  stating  the  result  of  the  same  calculation,  should 
sometimes  assert  it  to  be  greater  and  sometimes  less,  what,  I say, 
would  you  think  of  such  a man?”  “It  would  be  quite  clear  that 
he  knew  nothing  of  what  he  thought  he  knew.” 

22.  “Do  you  know  any  persons  called  slave-like?”  “I  do.’^ 
“Whether  for  their  knowledge  or  their  ignorance?”  “For  their 
ignorance,  certainly.”  “Is  it  then  for  their  ignorance  of  working 
in  brass  that  they  receive  this  appellation ? ” “Not  at  all.”  “Is 
h for  their  ignorance  of  the  art  of  building?”  “Nor  for  that.” 
■‘Or  for  their  ignorance  of  shoemaking?”  “Not  on  any  one  of 
these  accounts ; for  the  contrary  is  the  case,  as  most  of  those  who 
know  such  trades  are  servile.”  “Is  this,  then,  an  appellation  of 
those  who  are  ignorant  of  what  is  honourable,  and  good,  and 
just?”  “It  appears  so  to  me.”  23.  “ It  therefore  becomes  us  to 
exert  ourselves  in  every  way  to  avoid  being  like  slaves.”  “But, 
by  the  gods,  Socrates,”  rejoined  Euthydemus,  “I  firmly  believed 
that  I was  pursuing  that  course  of  study,  by  which  I should,  as  I 
expected,  be  made  fully  acquainted  with  all  that  was  proper  to 
be  known  by  a man  striving  after  honour  and  virtue;  but  now, 
how  dispirited  must  you  think  I feel,  when  I see  that,  with  all 
my  previous  labour,  I am  not  even  able  to  answer  a question 
about  what  I ought  most  of  all  to  know,  and  am  acquainted  with 
no  other  course  which  I may  pursue  to  become  better!” 

24.  Socrates  then  said,  “Tell  me,  Euthydemus,  have  you  ever 
gone  to  Delphi?”  “Yes,  twice,”  replied  he.  “And  did  you  ob- 
serve what  is  written  somewhere  on  the  temple  wall.  Know  thy- 
self?” “I  did.”  “And  did  you  take  no  thought  of  that  inscrip- 
tion, or  did  you  attend  to  it,  and  try  to  examine  yourself,  to  ascer- 


12 


SOCRATES 


tain  what  sort  of  character  you  are?”  “I  did  not  indeed  try,  for 
I thought  that  I knew  very  well  already,  since  I should  hardly 
know  anything  else  if  I did  not  know  myself.”  25.  “But  whether 
does  he  seem  to  you  to  know  himself,  who  knows  his  own  name 
merely,  or  he  who  (like  people  buying  horses,  who  do  not  think 
that  they  know  the  horse  that  they  want  to  know,  until  they  have 
ascertained  whether  he  is  tractable  or  unruly,  whether  he  is  strong 
or  weak,  swift  or  slow,  and  how  he  is  as  to  other  points  which 
are  serviceable  or  disadvantageous  in  the  use  of  a horse,  so  he), 
having  ascertained  with  regard  to  himself  how  he  is  adapted  for 
the  service  of  mankind,  knows  his  own  abilities?”  “It  appears 
to  me,  I must  confess,  that  he  who  does  not  know  his  own  abili- 
ties, does  not  know  himself.”  26.  “But  is  it  not  evident,”  said 
Socrates,  “that  men  enjoy  a great  number  of  blessings  in  conse- 
quence of  knowing  themselves,  and  incur  a great  number  of  evils, 
through  being  deceived  in  themselves?  For  they  who  know  them- 
selves know  what  is  suitable  for  them,  and  distinguish  between 
what  they  can  do  and  what  they  cannot ; and,  by  doing  what  they 
know  how  to  do,  procure  for  themselves  what  they  need,  and  are 
prosperous,  and,  by  abstaining  from  what  they  dp  not  know, 
live  blamelessly,  and  avoid  being  unfortunate.  By  this  know- 
ledge of  themselves,  too,  they  can  form  an  opinion  of  other  men, 
and,  by  their  experience  of  the  rest  of  mankind,  obtain  for  them- 
selves what  is  good,  and  guard  against  what  is  evil.  27.  But 
they  who  do  not  know  themselves,  but  are  deceived  in  their  own 
powers,  are  in  similar  case  with  regard  to  other  men,  and  other 
human  affairs,  and  neither  understand  what  they  require,  nor 
what  they  are  doing,  nor  the  characters  of  those  with  whom  they 
connect  themselves,  but,  being  in  error  as  to  all  these  particulars, 
they  fail  to  obtain  what  is  good,  and  fall  into  evil.  28.  They,  on 
the  other  hand,  who  understand  what  they  take  in  hand,  succeed 
in  what  they  attempt,  and  become  esteemed  and  honoured ; those 
who  resemble  them  in  character  willingly  form  connexions  with 
them;  those  who  are  unsuccessful  in  life  desire  to  be  assisted  with 
their  advice,  and  to  prefer  them  to  themselves ; they  place  in  them 
their  hopes  of  good,  and  love  them,  on  all  these  accounts,  beyond 
all  other  men.  29.  But  those,  again,  who  do  not  know  what  they 


XENOPHON’S  MEMORABILIA 


13 


are  doing,  who  make  an  unhappy  choice  in  life,  and  are  unsuc- 
cessful in  what  they  attempt,  not  only  incur  losses  and  sufferings 
in  their  own  affairs,  but  become,  in  consequence,  disreputable 
and  ridiculous,  and  drag  out  their  lives  in  contempt  and  dishon- 
our. Among  states,  too,  you  see  that  such  as,  from  ignorance  or 
their  own  strength,  go  to  war  with  others  that  are  more  power- 
ful, are,  some  of  them,  utterly  overthrown,  and  others  reduced 
from  freedom  to  slavery.” 

30.  “Be  assured,  therefore,”  replied  Euthydemus,  “that  I 
feel  convinced  we  must  consider  self-knowledge  of  the  highest 
value;  but  as  to  the  way  in  which  we  must  begin  to  seek  self- 
knowledge,  I look  to  you  for  information,  if  you  will  kindly  im- 
part it  to  me.”  31.  “Well,  then,”  said  Socrates,  “you  doubtless 
fully  understand  what  sort  of  things  are  good,  and  what  sort  are 
evil.”  “Yes,  by  Jupiter,”  replied  Euthydemus,  “for  if  I did  not 
understand  such  things,  I should  be  in  a worse  condition  than 
slaves  are.”  “Come  then,”  said  Socrates,  “tell  me  what  they 
are.”  “That  is  not  difficult,”  said  he,  “for,  in  the  first  place, 
health  I consider  to  be  a good,  and  sickness  an  evil,  and,  in  the 
next,  looking  to  the  causes  of  each  of  them,  as  drink,  food,  and 
employments,  I esteem  such  as  conduce  to  health  to  be  good,  and 
such  as  lead  to  sickness  to  be  evil.”  32.  “Consequently,”  said 
Socrates,  “health  and  sickness  themselves,  when  they  are  the 
causes  of  any  good,  will  be  good,  and  when  they  are  the  causes  of 
any  evil,  will  be  evil.”  “But  when,”  exclaimed  Euthydemus, 
“can  health  be  the  cause  of  evil,  and  sickness  of  good ? ” “When, 
for  example,”  said  Socrates,  “some  portion  of  a community, 
from  being  in  good  health,  take  part  in  a disgraceful  expedition 
by  land,  or  a ruinous  voyage  by  sea,  or  in  any  other  such  matters, 
which  are  sufficiently  common,  and  lose  their  lives,  while  others, 
who  are  left  behind  from  ill-health,  are  saved.”  “What  you  say 
is  true,”  said  Euthydemus,  “but  you  see  that  some  men  share 
in  successful  enterprises  from  being  in  health,  while  others,  from 
being  in  sickness,  are  left  out  of  them.”  “Whether  then,”  said 
Socrates,  “are  those  things  which  are  sometimes  beneficial,  and 
sometimes  injurious,  goods,  rather,  or  evils?”  “Nothing,  by 
Jupiter,  is  to  be  settled  with  regard  to  them  by  considering  thus. 


14 


SOCRATES 


33.  But  as  to  wisdom,  Socrates,  it  is  indisputably  a good  thing; 
for  what  business  will  not  one  who  is  wise  conduct  better  than 
one  who  is  untaught?”  “Have  you  not  heard,  then,  of  Daeda- 
lus,” said  Socrates,  “how  he  was  made  prisoner  by  Minos  and 
compelled  to  serve  him  as  a slave;  how  he  was  cut  off,  at  once, 
from  his  country  and  from  liberty,  and  how,  when  he  endeavoured 
to  escape  with  his  son,  he  lost  the  child,  and  was  unable  to  save 
himself,  but  was  carried  away  among  barbarians,  and  made  a 
second  time  a slave?”  “Such  a story  is  told,  indeed,”  said  Eu- 
thydemus.  “Have  you  not  heard,  too,  of  the  sufferings  of  Pala- 
medes  ? for  everybody  says  that  it  was  for  his  wisdom  he  was  en- 
vied and  put  to  death  by  Ulysses.”  “That,  too,  is  said,”  replied 
Euthydemus.  “And  how  many  other  men  do  you  think  have 
been  carried  off  to  the  king  on  account  of  their  wisdom,  and  made 
slaves  there?” 

34.  “But  as  to  happiness,  Socrates,”  said  Euthydemus,  “that 
at  least  appears  to  be  an  indisputable  good,”  “Yes,  Euthyde- 
mus,” replied  Socrates,  “if  we  make  it  consist  in  things  that  are 
themselves  indisputably  good.”  “But  what,”  said  he,  “among 
things  constituting  happiness  can  be  a doubtful  good?”  “No- 
thing,” answered  Socrates,  “unless  we  join  with  it  beauty,  or 
strength,  or  wealth,  or  glory,  or  any  other  such  thing.”  35.  “But 
we  must  assuredly  join  them  with  it,”  said  Euthydemus;  “for 
how  can  a person  be  happy  without  them  ? ” “ We  shall  then  join 
with  it,  by  Jupiter,”  said  Socrates,  “things  from  which  many- 
grievous  calamities  happen  to  mankind;  for  many,  on  account 
of  their  beauty,  are  ruined  by  those  who  are  maddened  with  pas- 
sion for  their  youthful  attractions;  many,  through  confidence  in- 
their  strength,  have  entered  upon  undertakings  too  great  for  it, 
and  involved  themselves  in  no  small  disasters;  many,  in  conse- 
quence of  their  wealth,  have  become  enervated,  been  plotted 
against,  and  destroyed;  and  many,  from  the  glory  and  power 
that  they  have  acquired  in  their  country,  have  suffered  the  great- 
est calamities.”  36.  “Well,  then,”  said  Euthydemus,  “if  I do 
not  say  what  is  right  when  I praise  happiness,  I confess  that  I 
do  not  know  what  we  ought  to  pray  for  to  the  gods.” 


XENOPHON’S  MEMORABILIA 


15 


CHAPTER  FI.  THE  SOCRATIC  METHOD 

I,  I will  now  endeavour  to  show  that  Socrates  rendered  those 
who  associated  with  him  more  skilful  in  argument.  For  he 
thought  that  those  who  knew  the  nature  of  things  severally,  would 
be  able  to  explain  them  to  others;  but  as  to  those  who  did  not 
know,  he  said  that  it  was  not  surprising  that  they  fell  into  error 
themselves,  and  led  others  into  it.  He  therefore  never  ceased  to 
reason  with  his  associates  about  the  nature  of  things.  To  go 
through  .all  the  terms  that  he  defined,  and  to  show  how  he  defined 
them,  would  be  a long  task;  but  I will  give  as  many  instances  as 
I think  will  suffice  to  show  the  nature  of  his  reasoning. 

2.  In  the  first  place,  then,  he  reasoned  of  piety,  in  some  such 
way  as  this.  “Tell  me,”  said  he,  “ Euthydemus,  what  sort  of  feel- 
ing do  you  consider  piety  to  be?”  “The  most  noble  of  all  feel- 
ings,” replied  he.  “Can  you  tell  me,  then,  who  is  a pious  man?” 
“The  man,  I think,  who  honours  the  gods.”  “Is  it  allowable  to 
pay  honour  to  the  gods  in  any  way  that  one  pleases?”  “No; 
there  are  certain  laws  in  conformity  with  which  we  must  pay  our 
honours  to  them.”  3.  “He,  then,  who  knows  these  laws,  will 
know  how  he  must  honour  the  gods ? ” “I  think  so.”  “ He  there- 
fore who  knows  how  to  pay  honour  to  the  gods,  will  not  think 
that  he  ought  to  pay  it  otherwise  than  as  he  knows?”  “Doubt- 
less not.”  “But  does  any  one  pay  honours  to  the  gods  otherwise 
than  as  he  thinks  that  he  ought  to  pay  them?”  “I  think  not.” 
4.  “He  therefore  who  knows  what  is  agreeable  to  the  laws  with 
regard  to  the  gods,  will  honour  the  gods  in  agreement  with  the 
laws  ? ” “ Certainly.”  “ Does  not  he,  then,  who  honours  the  gods 
agreeably  to  the  laws  honour  them  as  he  ought?”  “How  can  he 
do  otherwise?”  “And  he  who  honours  them  as  he  ought,  is 
pious?”  “Certainly.”  “ He  therefore  who  knows  what  is  agree- 
able to  the  laws  with  regard  to  the  gods,  may  be  justly  defined 
by  us  as  a pious  man?”  “ So  it  appears  to  me,”  said  Euthydemus. 

5.  “But  is  it  allowable  for  a person  to  conduct  himself  to- 
wards other  men  in  whatever  way  he  pleases?”  “No;  but  with 
respect  to  men  also,  he  who  knows  what  is  in  conformity  with 


i6 


SOCRATES 


the  laws,  and  how  men  ought,  according  to  them,  to  conduct 
themselves  towards  each  other,  will  be  an  observer  of  the  laws.” 
“Do  not  those,  then,  who  conduct  themselves  towards  each  other 
according  to  what  is  in  conformity  with  the  laws,  conduct  them- 
selves towards  each  other  as  they  ought?”  “How  can  it  be  other- 
wise?” “Do  not  those,  therefore,  who  conduct  themselves  to- 
wards each  other  as  they  ought,  conduct  themselves  well  ? ” 
“Certainly.”  “Do  not  those,  then,  that  conduct  themselves  well 
towards  each  other,  act  properly  in  transactions  between  man 
and  man?”  “Surely.”  “ Do  not  those,  then,  who  obey  the  laws, 
do  what  is  just?”  “Undoubtedly.”  6.  “ And  do  you  know  what 
sort  of  actions  are  called  just?”  “Those  which  the  laws  sanc- 
tion.” “Those,  therefore,  who  do  what  the  laws  sanction,  do 
what  is  just,  and  what  they  ought?”  “How  can  it  be  otherwise?” 
“Those  who  do  just  things,  therefore,  are  just?”  “I  think  so.” 
“Do  you  think  that  any  persons  yield  obedience  to  the  laws  who 
do  not  know  what  the  laws  sanction?”  “I  do  not.”  “And  do 
you  think  that  any  who  know  what  they  ought  to  do,  think  that 
they  ought  not  to  do  it?”  “I  do  not  think  so.”  “And  do  you 
know  any  persons  that  do  other  things  than  those  which  they 
think  they  ought  to  do?”  “I  do  not.”  “Those,  therefore,  who 
know  what  is  agreeable  to  the  laws  in  regard  to  men,  do  what 
is  just?”  “Certainly.”  “And  are  not  those  who  do  what  is  just, 
just  men?”  “ Who  else  can  be  so ? ” “ Shall  we  not  define  rightly, 
therefore,”  concluded  Socrates,  “ if  we  define  those  to  be  just  who 
know  what  is  agreeable  to  the  laws  in  regard  to  men?”  “It 
appears  so  to  me,”  said  Euthydemus. 

7.  “And  what  shall  we  say  that  wisdom  is?  Tell  me,  whether 
do  men  seem  to  you  to  be  wise,  in  things  which  they  know,  or  in 
things  which  they  do  not  know?”  “In  what  they  know,  cer- 
tainly; for  how  can  a man  be  wise  in  things  of  which  he  knows 
nothing?”  “Those,  then,  who  are  wise,  are  wise  by  their  know- 
ledge?” “By  what  else  can  a man  be  wise,  if  not  by  his  know- 
ledge?” “Do  you  think  wisdom,  then,  to  be  anything  else  than 
that  by  which  men  are  wise ? ” “ I do  not.”  “Is  knowledge,  then, 
wisdom ? ” “It  appears  so  to  me.”  “ Does  it  appear  to  you,  how- 
ever, that  it  is  possible  for  a man  to  know  all  things  that  are?” 


XENOPHON’S  MEMORABILIA 


17 


“No,  by  Jupiter;  not  even,  as  I think,  a comparatively  small 
portion  of  them.”  “It  is  not  therefore  possible  for  a man  to  be 
wise  in  all  things?”  “No,  indeed.”  “ Every  man  is  wise,  there- 
fore, in  that  only  of  which  he  has  a knowledge?”  “So  it  seems 
to  me.” 

8.  “Shall  we  thus,  too,  Euthydemus,”  said  he,  “inquire  what 
is  GOOD?”  “How?”  said  Euthydemus.  “Does  the  same  thing 
appear  to  you  to  be  beneficial  to  everybody?”  “No.”  “And 
does  not  that  which  is  beneficial  to  one  person  appear  to  you  to 
be  sometimes  hurtful  to  another?”  “Assuredly.”  “Would  you 
say,  then,  that  anything  is  good  that  is  not  beneficial ? ” “I  would 
not.”  “What  is  beneficial,  therefore,  is  good,  to  whomsoever  it 
is  beneficial?”  “It  appears  so  to  me,”  said  Euthydemus. 

g.  “And  can  we  define  the  beautiful  in  any  other  way  than 
if  you  term  whatever  is  beautiful,  whether  a person,  or  a vase, 
or  anything  else  whatsoever,  beautiful  for  whatever  purpose  you 
know  that  it  is  beautiful?”  “No,  indeed,”  said  Euthydemus. 
“For  whatever  purpose,  then,  anything  maybe  useful,  for  that 
purpose  it  is  beautiful  to  use  it?”  “Certainly.”  “And  is  any- 
thing beautiful  for  any  other  purpose  than  that  for  which  it  is 
beautiful  to  use  it?”  “For  no  other  purpose,”  replied  he.  “What 
is  useful  is  beautiful,  therefore,  for  that  purpose  for  which  is  it 
beautiful?”  “So  I think,”  said  he. 

10.  “As  to  COURAGE,  Euthydemus,”  said  Socrates,  “do  you 
think  it  is  to  be  numbered  among  excellent  things?”  “I  think 
it  one  of  the  most  excellent,”  replied  Euthydemus.  “But  you 
do  not  think  courage  a thing  of  use  for  small  occasions.”  “No, 
by  Jupiter,  but  for  the  very  greatest.”  “ Does  it  appear  to  you 
to  be  useful,  with  regard  to  formidable  and  dangerous  things,  to 
be  ignorant  of  their  character  ? ” “ By  no  means.”  “ They,  there- 
fore, who  do  not  fear  such  things,  because  they  do  not  know  what 
they  are,  are  not  courageous?”  “Certainly  not;  for,  in  that  case, 
many  madmen  and  even  cowards  would  be  courageous.”  “And 
what  do  you  say  of  those  who  fear  things  that  are  not  formid- 
able ? ” “ Still  less,  by  Jupiter,  should  they  be  called  courageous.” 
“Those,  then,  that  are  good,  with  reference  to  formidable  and 
dangerous  things,  you  consider  to  be  courageous,  and  those  that 


i8 


SOCRATES 


are  had,  cowardly?”  “Certainly.”  ii.  “But  do  you  think  that 
any  other  persons  are  good,  with  reference  to  terrible  and  dan- 
gerous circumstances,  except  those  who  are  able  to  conduct  them- 
selves well  under  them  ? ” “ No,  those  only,”  said  he.  “And  you 
think  those  bad  with  regard  to  them,  who  are  of  such  a charac- 
ter as  to  conduct  themselves  badly  under  them?”  “Whom  else 
can  I think  so?”  “ Do  not  each,  then,  conduct  themselves  under 
them  as  they  think  they  ought?”  “How  can  it  be  otherwise?” 
“Do  those,  therefore,  who  do  not  conduct  themselves  properly 
under  them,  know  how  they  ought  to  conduct  themselves  under 
them?”  “Doubtless  not.”  “Those  then  who  know  how  they 
ought  to  conduct  themselves  under  them,  can  do  so?”  “And 
they  alone.”  “Do  those,  therefore,  who  do  not  fail  under  such 
circumstances,  conduct  themselves  badly  under  them?”  “I  think 
not.”  “Those,  then,  who  do  conduct  themselves  badly  under 
them,  do  fail?”  “It  seems  so.”  “Those,  therefore,  who  know 
how  to  conduct  themselves  well  in  terrible  and  dangerous  cir- 
cumstances are  courageous,  and  those  who  fail  to  do  so  are 
cowards?”  “They  at  least  appear  so  to  me,”  said  Euthydemus. 

12.  Monarchy  and  tyranny  he  considered  to  be  both  forms 
of  government,  but  conceived  that  they  differed  greatly  from  one 
another;  for  a government  over  men  with  their  own  consent, 
and  in  conformity  with  the  laws  of  free  states,  he  regarded  as  a 
monarchy;  but  a government  over  men  against  their  will,  and 
not  according  to  the  laws  of  free  states,  but  just  as  the  ruler 
pleased,  a tyranny;  and  wherever  magistrates  were  appointed 
from  among  those  who  complied  with  the  injunctions  of  the  laws, 
he  considered  the  government  to  be  an  aristocracy;  wherever 
they  were  appointed  according  to  their  wealth,  a plutocracy ; and 
wherever  they  were  appointed  from  among  the  whole  people,  a 
democracy. 

13.  Whenever  any  person  contradicted  him  on  any  point,  who 
had  nothing  definite  to  say,  and  who  perhaps  asserted,  without 
proof,  that  some  person,  whom  he  mentioned,  was  wiser,  or  bet- 
ter skilled  in  political  affairs,  or  possessed  of  greater  courage, 
or  worthier  in  some  such  respect  [than  some  other  whom  Soc- 
rates had  mentioned],  he  would  recall  the  whole  argument,  in 


XENOPHON’S  MEMORABILIA 


19 


some  such  way  as  the  following,  to  the  primary  proposition: 
14.  “ Do  you  say  that  he  whom  you  commend,  is  a better  citizen 
than  he  whom  I commend?”  “I  do  say  so.”  “Why  should  we 
not  then  consider,  in  the  first  place,  what  is  the  duty  of  a good 
citizen? “Let  us  do  so.”  “Would  not  he  then  be  superior  in 
the  management  of  the  public  money  who  should  make  the  state 
richer?”  “Undoubtedly.”  “ And  he  in  war  who  should  make  it 
victorious  over  its  enemies?”  “Assuredly.”  “And  in  an  em- 
bassy he  who  should  make  friends  of  foes?”  “Doubtless.” 
“And  he  in  addressing  the  people  who  should  check  dissension 
and  inspire  them  with  unanimity?”  “I  think  so.”  When  the 
discussion  was  thus  brought  back  to  fundamental  principles,  the 
truth  was  made  evident  to  those  who  had  opposed  him. 

15.  When  he  himself  went  through  any  subject  in  argument, 
he  proceeded  upon  propositions  of  which  the  truth  was  gener- 
ally acknowledged,  thinking  that  a sure  foundation  was  thus 
formed  for  his  reasoning.  Accordingly,  whenever  he  spoke,  he, 
of  all  men  that  I have  known,  most  readily  prevailed  on  his 
hearers  to  assent  to  his  arguments ; and  he  used  to  say  that  Ho- 
mer had  attributed  to  Ulysses  the  character  of  a sure  orator,  as 
being  able  to  form  his  reasoning  on  points  acknowledged  by  all 
mankind. 


PLATO 

(427-347) 

THE  REPUBLIC 


Translated  from  the  Greek  * by 
BENJAMIN  JOWETT 

BOOK  L THE  FUNCTION  OF  THE  SOUL 

Socrates  Thrasymachus 

Ste/>A.  JJ2. 

Well  then,  proceed  with  your  answers,  and  let  me  have  the 
remainder  of  my  repast.  For  we  have  already  shown  that  the 
just  are  clearly  wiser  and  better  and  abler  than  the  unjust,  and 
that  the  unjust  are  incapable  of  common  action;  nay  more, 
that  to  speak  as  we  did  of  evil-doers  ever  acting  vigorously  to- 
gether, is  not  strictly  true,  for  if  they  had  been  perfectly  evil, 
they  would  have  laid  hands  upon  one  another;  but  it  is  evident 
that  there  must  have  been  some  remnant  of  justice  in  them, 
which  enabled  them  to  combine;  if  there  had  not  been  they  would 
have  injured  one  another  as  well  as  their  victims;  they  were 
but  half-villains  in  their  enterprises,  for  had  they  been  whole 
villains,  and  utterly  unjust,  they  would  have  been  wholly  in- 
capable of  action.  That,  as  I believe,  is  the  truth  of  the  matter, 
and  not  what  you  said  at  first.  But  whether  the  just  have  a 
better  and  happier  life  than  the  unjust  is  a further  question 
which  we  also  proposed  to  consider.  I think  that  they  have,  and 
for  t*he  reasons  which  I have  given;  but  still  I should  like  to  ex- 
amine further,  for  no  light  matter  is  at  stake,  nothing  less  than 
the  rule  of  human  life. 

Proceed. 

I will  proceed  by  asking  a question : Would  you  not  say  that 
a horse  has  some  end? 

* From  nAdrwvos  noAtreio.  Reprinted  from  The  Dialogues  of  Plato,  translated 
by  B.  Jowett,  Oxford,  Clarendon  Press,  1871 ; 3d  rev.  ed.  1892,  vol.  iii. 


THE  REPUBLIC 


21 


I should. 

And  the  end  or  use  of  a horse  or  of  anything  would  be  that 
which  could  not  be  accomplished,  or  not  so  well  accomplished, 
by  any  other  thing? 

I do  not  understand,  he  said. 

Let  me  explain : Can  you  see,  except  with  the  eye  ? 

Certainly  not. 

Or  hear,  except  with  the  ear? 

No. 

These  then  may  be  truly  said  to  be  the  ends  of  these  organs  ? 

They  may. 

But  you  can  cut  off  a vine-branch  with  a carving-knife  or  with 
a chisel  and  in  many  other  ways? 

Of  course. 

And  yet  not  so  well  as  with  a pruning-hook  made  for  the 
purpose  ? 

True. 

May  we  not  say  that  this  is  the  end  of  a pruning-hook  ? 

We  may. 

Then  now  I think  you  will  have  no  difficulty  in  understand- 
ing my  meaning  when  I said  that  the  end  of  anything  was  that 
which  could  not  be  accomplished,  or  not  so  well  accomplished, 
by  any  other  thing? 

I understand  your  meaning,  he  said,  and  assent. 

And  that  to  which  an  end  is  appointed  has  also  an  excellence  r 
Need  I ask  again  whether  the  eye  has  an  end? 

It  has. 

And  has  not  the  eye  an  excellence? 

Yes. 

And  the  ear  has  an  end  and  an  excellence  also? 

True. 

And  the  same  is  true  of  all  other  things;  they  have  each  of 
them  an  end  and  a special  excellence? 

That  is  so. 

Well,  and  can  the  eyes  fulfil  their  end  if  they  are  wanting  in 
their  own  proper  excellence  and  have  a defect  instead  ? 

How  can  they,  he  said,  if  they  are  blind  and  cannot  see  ? 


22 


PLATO 


You  mean  to  say,  if  they  have  lost  their  proper  excellence, 
which  is  sight;  but  I have  not  arrived  at  that  point  yet.  I would 
rather  ask  the  question  more  generally,  and  only  enquire  whether 
the  things  which  fulfil  their  ends  fulfil  them  by  their  own  pro- 
per excellence,  and  fail  of  fulfilling  them  by  their  own  defect? 

Certainly,  he  replied. 

I might  say  the  same  of  the  ears ; when  deprived  of  their  own 
proper  excellence  they  cannot  fulfil  their  end? 

True. 

And  the  same  observation  will  apply  to  all  other  things? 

I agree. 

Well,  and  has  not  the  soul  an  end  which  nothing  else  can  fulfil  ? 
for  example,  to  superintend  and  command  and  deliberate  and 
the  like.  Are  not  these  functions  proper  to  the  soul,  and  can  they 
rightly  be  assigned  to  any  other? 

To  no  other. 

And  is  not  life  to  be  reckoned  among  the  ends  of  the  soul  ? 

Assuredly,  he  said. 

And  has  not  the  soul  an  excellence  also? 

Yes. 

And  can  she  or  can  she  not  fulfil  her  ends  when  deprived  of 
that  excellence? 

She  cannot. 

Then  an  evil  soul  must  necessarily  be  an  evil  ruler,  and  the 
good  soul  a good  ruler? 

Yes,  necessarily. 

And  we  have  admitted  that  justice  is  the  excellence  of  the 
soul,  and  injustice  the  defect  of  the  soul  ? 

That  has  been  admitted. 

Then  the  just  soul  and  the  just  man  will  live  well,  and  the 
unjust  man  will  live  ill? 

That  is  what  your  argument  proves. 

And  he  who  lives  well  will  be  blessed  and  happy,  and  he  who 
lives  ill  the  reverse  of  happy? 

Certainly. 

Then  the  just  is  happy,  and  the  unjust  miserable? 

So  be  it. 


THE  REPUBLIC 


23 


But  happiness  and  not  misery  is  profitable? 

Of  course. 

Then,  my  blessed  Thrasymachus,  injustice  can  never  be  more 
profitable  than  justice. 

Let  this,  Socrates,  be  your  entertainment  at  the  Bendidea. 


BOOK  IF.  THE  CARDINAL  VIRTUES 

Socrates  Adeimantus  Glaucon 

Sleph.  42J 

But  where,  amid  all  this,  is  justice?  son  of  Ariston,  tell  me 
where.  Now  that  our  city  has  been  made  habitable,  light  a 
candle  and  search,  and  get  your  brother  and  Polemarchus  and 
the  rest  of  our  friends  to  help,  and  let  us  see  whether  we  can  dis- 
cover where  is  justice  and  where  is  injustice,  and  in  what  they 
differ  from  one  another,  and  which  of  them  the  man  who  would 
be  happy  should  have  for  his  portion,  whether  seen  or  unseen 
by  gods  and  men. 

Nonsense,  said  Glaucon;  did  you  not  promise  to  search  your- 
self, saying  that  to  desert  justice  in  her  need  would  be  an  im- 
piety ? 

I do  not  deny  that  I said  so ; and  as  you  remind  me,  I will  be 
as  good  as  my  word;  but  you  must  join. 

We  will,  he  replied. 

Well,  then,  I hope  to  make  the  discovery  in  this  way : I mean 
to  begin  with  the  assumption  that  our  State,  if  rightly  ordered, 
is  perfect. 

That  is  most  certain. 

And  being  perfect,  is  therefore  wise  and  valiant  and  temper- 
ate and  just. 

That  is  likewise  clear. 

And  whichever  of  these  qualities  we  find  in  the  State,  the  one 
which  is  not  found  will  be  the  residue? 

Very  good. 

If  there  were  four  things,  and  we  were  searching  for  one  of 
them,  wherever  it  might  be,  the  one  sought  for  might  be  known 
to  us  from  the  first,  and  there  would  be  no  further  trouble;  or, 


24  PLATO 

we  might  know  the  three  first,  and  then  the  fourth  would  clearly 
be  the  one  left. 

Very  true,  he  said. 

And  is  not  a similar  method  to  be  pursued  about  the  virtues, 
which  are  also  four  in  number? 

Clearly. 

First  among  the  virtues  found  in  the  State,  wisdom  comes  into 
view,  and  in  this  I detect  a certain  peculiarity. 

What  is  that? 

The  State  which  we  have  been  describing  is  said  to  be  wise 
as  being  good  in  counsel? 

Very  true. 

And  good  counsel  is  clearly  a kind  of  knowledge,  for  not  by 
ignorance,  but  by  knowledge,  do  men  counsel  well? 

Clearly. 

And  the  kinds  of  knowledge  in  a State  are  many  and  diverse  ? 

Of  course. 

There  is  the  knowledge  of  the  carpenter;  but  is  that  the  sort 
of  knowledge  which  gives  a city  the  title  of  wise  and  good  in 
counsel  ? 

Certainly  not;  that  would  only  give  a city  the  reputation  of 
skill  in  carpentering. 

Then  a city  is  not  to  be  called  wise  because  possessed  of  know- 
ledge which  counsels  for  the  best  about  wooden  implements? 

Certainly  not. 

Nor  by  reason  of  a knowledge  which  advises  about  brazen  im- 
plements, he  said,  nor  as  possessing  any  other  similar  knowledge  ? 

Not  by  reason  of  any  of  them,  he  said. 

Nor  yet  by  reason  of  a knowledge  which  cultivates  the  earth ; 
that  would  give  the  city  the  name  of  agricultural? 

Yes. 

Well,  I said,  and  is  there  any  knowledge  in  our  recently- 
founded  State  among  any  of  the  citizens  which  advises,  not  about 
any  particular  thing  in  the  State,  but  about  the  whole,  and  con- 
siders how  a State  can  best  deal  with  itself  and  with  other 
States  ? 

There  certainly  is. 


THE  REPUBLIC 


25 

And  what  is  this  knowledge,  and  among  whom  is  it  found? 
I asked. 

It  is  the  knowledge  of  the  guardians,  he  replied,  and  is  found 
among  those  whom  we  were  just  now  describing  as  perfect 
guardians. 

And  what  is  the  name  which  the  city  derives  from  the  posses- 
sion of  this  sort  of  knowledge? 

The  name  of  good  in  counsel  and  truly  wise. 

And  will  there  be  more  of  these  true  guardians  or  more  smiths  ? 

The  smiths,  he  replied,  will  be  far  more  numerous. 

Will  not  the  guardians  be  the  smallest  of  all  the  classes  who  re- 
ceive a name  from  the  profession  of  some  kind  of  knowledge  ? 

Much  the  smallest. 

And  so  by  reason  of  this  smallest  part  or  class,  and  of  the  know- 
ledge which  resides  in  this  presiding  and  ruling  part  of  itself,  the 
whole  State,  being  thus  naturally  constituted,  will  be  wise;  and 
this,  which  has  the  only  knowledge  worthy  to  be  called  wisdom, 
has  been  ordained  by  nature  to  be  of  all  classes  the  least. 

Most  true. 

Thus,  then,  I said,  the  nature  and  place  in  the  State  of  one  of 
the  four  virtues  has  somehow  or  other  been  discovered. 

And,  in  my  humble  opinion,  very  satisfactorily  discovered,  he 
replied. 

Again,  I said,  there  is  no  difficulty  in  seeing  the  nature  of  cour- 
age, and  in  what  part  that  quality  resides  which  gives  the  name 
of  courageous  to  the  State. 

How  do  you  mean  ? 

Why,  I said,  every  one  who  calls  any  State  courageous  or  cow- 
ardly, will  be  thinking  of  the  part  which  fights  and  goes  out  to 
battle  on  the  State’s  behalf. 

No  one,  he  replied,  would  ever  think  of  any  other. 

The  rest  of  the  citizens  may  be  courageous  or  may  be  cowardly, 
but  their  courage  or  cowardice  will  not,  as  I conceive,  have  the 
effect  of  making  the  city  either  the  one  or  the  other. 

Certainly  not. 

The  city  will  be  courageous  in  virtue  of  a portion  of  herself 
which  preserves  under  all  circumstances  that  opinion  about  things 


26 


PLATO 


to  be  feared  and  not  to  be  feared  in  which  our  legislature  edu- 
cated them;  and  this  is  what  you  term  courage. 

I should  like  to  hear  what  you  are  saying  once  more,  for  I do 
not  think  that  I perfectly  understand  you. 

I mean  that  courage  is  a kind  of  salvation. 

Salvation  of  what? 

Of  the  opinion  respecting  things  to  be  feared,  of  what  they  are, 
and  of  what  nature,  which  the  law  implants  through  education; 
and  I mean  by  the  words  “under  all  circumstances”  to  intimate 
that  in  pleasure  or  in  pain,  or  under  the  influence  of  desire  or  fear, 
a man  preserves,  and  does  not  lose  this  opinion.  Shall  I give  you 
an  illustration? 

If  you  please. 

You  know,  I said,  that  the  dyers,  when  they  want  to  dye  wool 
for  making  the  true  sea-purple,  begin  by  selecting  their  white 
colour  first;  this  they  prepare  and  dress  with  much  care  and  pains, 
in  order  that  the  white  ground  may  take  the  purple  hue  in  full 
perfection.  The  dyeing  then  proceeds;  and  whatever  is  dyed  in 
this  manner  becomes  a fast  colour,  and  no  washing  either  with 
lyes  or  without  them  can  take  away  the  bloom.  But  when  the 
ground  has  not  been  duly  prepared  you  will  have  noticed  how 
poor  is  the  look  either  of  purple  or  of  any  other  colour? 

Yes,  he  said;  I know  that  they  have  a washed-out  and  ridicu- 
lous appearance. 

Then  now,  I said,  you  will  understand  what  our  object  was  in 
selecting  our  soldiers,  and  educating  them  in  music  and  gymnas- 
tic; we  were  contriving  influences  which  would  prepare  them  to 
take  the  dye  of  the  laws  in  perfection,  and  the  colour  of  their  opin- 
ion about  dangers  and  of  every  other  opinion  was  to  be  indelibly 
fixed  by  their  nurture  and  training,  and  not  to  be  washed  away 
by  such  potent  lyes  as  pleasure  — mightier  agent  far  in  washing 
thesoul  than  anysoda  or  lye;  or  by  sorrow,  fear,  and  desire,  which 
are  the  mightiest  of  all  other  solvents.  And  this  sort  of  universal 
saving  power  of  true  opinion  in  conformity  with  law  about  real 
and  false  dangers,  I call  and  maintain  to  be  courage,  unless  you 
disagree. 

But  I agree,  he  replied;  for  I suppose  that  you  mean  to  exclude 


THE  REPUBLIC 


27 


mere  uninstructed  courage,  such  as  that  of  a wild  beast  or  of  a 
slave  — this,  in  your  opinion,  is  not  the  courage  which  the  law 
ordains,  and  ought  to  have  another  name. 

Most  certainly. 

Then  I may  infer  courage  to  be  such  as  you  describe? 

Why,  yes,  said  I,  you  may,  and  if  you  add  the  words  “of  a 
citizen,”  you  will  not  be  far  wrong;  — hereafter,  if  you  like,  we 
will  carry  the  examination  further,  but  at  present  we  are  seeking 
not  for  courage  but  justice;  and  for  the  purpose  of  our  enquiry 
we  have  said  enough. 

You  are  right,  he  replied. 

Two  virtues  remain  to  be  discovered  in  the  State  — first,  tem- 
perance, and  then  justice,  which  is  the  great  object  of  our  search. 

Very  true. 

Now,  can  we  find  justice  without  troubling  ourselves  about 
temperance  ? 

I do  not  know  how  that  can  be  accomplished,  he  said,  nor  do 
I desire  that  justice  should  be  brought  to  light  and  temperance 
lost  sight  of ; and  therefore  I wish  that  you  would  do  me  the 
favour  of  considering  temperance  first. 

Certainly,  I replied,  I should  not  be  justified  in  refusing  your 
request. 

Then  consider,  he  said. 

Yes,  I replied;  I will;  and  as  far  as  I can  at  present  see,  the 
virtue  of  temperance  has  more  of  the  nature  of  harmony  and 
symphony  than  the  preceding. 

How  so?  he  asked. 

Temperance,  I replied,  is  the  ordering  or  controlling  of  cer- 
tain pleasures  and  desires;  this  is  curiously  enough  implied  in 
the  saying  of  “a  man  being  his  own  master;”  and  other  traces 
of  the  same  notion  may  be  found  in  language. 

No  doubt,  he  said. 

There  is  something  ridiculous  in  the  expression  “master  of 
himself;”  for  the  master  is  also  the  servant  and  the  servant  the 
master ; and  in  all  these  modes  of  speaking  the  same  person  is 
denoted. 

Certainly. 


28 


PLATO 


The  meaning  is,  I believe,  that  the  human  soul  has  a better 
principle,  and  has  also  a worse  principle;  and  when  the  better 
has  the  worse  under  control,  then  a man  is  said  to  be  master  of 
himself;  and  this  is  a term  of  praise:  but  when,  owing  to  evil 
education  or  association,  the  better  principle,  which  is  also  the 
smaller,  is  overwhelmed  by  the  greater  mass  of  the  worse ; in  this 
case  he  is  blamed  and  is  called  the  slave  of  self  and  unprincipled. 

Yes,  there  is  reason  in  that. 

And  now,  I said,  look  at  our  newly-created  State,  and  there 
you  will  find  one  of  these  two  conditions  realized;  for  the  State, 
as  you  will  acknowledge,  may  be  justly  called  master  of  itself,  if 
the  words  “temperance”  and  “self-mastery”  truly  express  the 
rule  of  the  better  part  over  the  worse. 

Yes,  he  said,  I see  what  you  say  is  true. 

Let  me  further  note  that  the  manifold  and  complex  pleasures 
and  desires  and  pains  are  generally  found  in  children  and  wo- 
men and  servants,  and  in  the  freemen,  so  called,  who  are  of  the 
lowest  and  more  numerous  class. 

Certainly,  he  said. 

Whereas  the  simple  and  moderate  desires  which  follow  rea- 
son, and  are  under  the  guidance  of  mind  and  true  opinion,  are 
to  be  found  only  in  a few,  and  those  the  best  born  and  best 
educated. 

Very  true. 

These  two,  as  you  may  perceive,  have  a place  in  our  State,  but 
the  meaner  desires  of  the  many  are  held  down  by  the  virtuous 
desires  and  wisdom  of  the  few. 

That  I perceive,  he  said. 

Then  if  there  be  any  city  which  may  be  described  as  master 
of  its  own  pleasures  and  desires,  and  master  of  itself,  ours  may 
claim  such  a designation? 

Certainly,  he  replied. 

It  may  also  be  called  temperate,  and  for  the  same  reasons? 

Yes. 

And  if  there  be  any  State  in  which  rulers  and  subjects  will  be 
agreed  about  the  question  who  are  to  rule,  that  again  will  be  our 
State? 


THE  REPUBLIC 


29 


Undoubtedly. 

And  the  citizens  being  thus  agreed  among  themselves,  in  which 
class  will  temperance  be  found  — in  the  rulers  or  in  the  subjects  ? 

In  both,  as  I should  imagine,  he  replied. 

Do  you  observe  that  we  were  not  far  wrong  in  our  guess  that 
temperance  was  a sort  of  harmony  ? 

Why  so? 

Why,  because  temperance  is  unlike  courage  and  wisdom,  each 
of  which  resides  in  a part  only,  the  one  making  the  State  wise 
and  the  other  valiant;  not  so  temperance,  which  extends  to  the 
whole,  and  runs  through  the  notes  of  the  scale,  and  produces  a 
harmony  of  the  weaker  and  the  stronger  and  the  middle  class, 
whether  you  suppose  them  to  be  stronger  or  weaker  in  wisdom 
or  power  or  numbers  or  wealth,  or  anything  else.  Most  truly  then 
may  we  deem  temperance  to  be  the  agreement  of  the  naturally 
superior  and  inferior,  as  to  the  right  rule  of  either,  both  in  states 
and  individuals. 

I entirely  agree  with  you. 

And  so,  I said,  we  may  consider  three  of  the  virtues  to  have  been 
discovered  in  our  State.  The  last  of  those  qualities  which  make 
a state  virtuous  must  be  justice,  if  we  only  knew  what  that  was. 

The  inference  is  obvious. 

The  time  then  has  arrived,  Glaucon,  when,  like  huntsmen, 
we  should  surround  the  cover,  and  look  sharp  that  justice  does 
not  steal  away,  and  pass  out  of  sight,  and  escape  us;  for  beyond 
a doubt  she  is  somewhere  in  this  country : watch  therefore  and 
strive  to  catch  a sight  of  her,  and  if  you  see  her  first,  let  me  know. 

Would  that  I could ! But  you  should  regard  me  rather  as  a fol- 
lower who  has  just  eyes  enough  to  see  what  you  show  him  — that 
is  about  as  much  as  I am  good  for. 

Offer  up  a prayer  with  me  and  follow. 

I will,  but  you  must  show  me  the  way. 

Here  is  no  path,  I said,  and  the  wood  is  dark  and  perplexing; 
still  we  must  push  on. 

Let  us  push  on. 

Here  I saw  something:  Halloo!  I said,  I begin  to  oerceive  a 
track,  and  I believe  that  the  quarry  will  not  escape. 


30 


PLATO 


Good  news,  he  said. 

Truly,  I said,  we  are  stupid  fellows. 

Why  so? 

Why,  my  good  sir,  at  the  beginning  of  our  enquiry,  ages  ago, 
there  was  justice  tumbling  about  at  our  feet,  and  we  never  saw 
her ; nothing  could  be  more  ridiculous.  Like  people  who  go  about 
looking  for  what  they  have  in  their  hands  — that  was  the  way 
with  us  — we  looked  not  at  what  we  were  seeking,  but  what  was 
far  off  in  the  distance,  and  therefore,  I suppose,  we  missed  her. 

What  do  you  mean? 

I mean  to  say  that  in  reality  for  a long  time  past  we  have  been 
talking  of  justice,  and  have  failed  to  recognize  her. 

I grow  impatient  at  the  length  of  your  exordium. 

Well  then,  tell  me,  I said,  whether  I am  right  or  not:  You 
remember  the  original  principle  which  we  were  always  lay- 
ing down  at  the  foundation  of  the  State,  that  one  man  should 
practise  one  thing  only,  the  thing  to  which  his  nature  was  best 
adapted; — now  justice  is  this  principle  or  a part  of  it. 

Yes,  we  often  said  that  one  man  should  do  one  thing  only. 

Further,  we  affirmed  that  justicewas  doing  one’s  own  business, 
and  not  being  a busybody;  we  said  so  again  and  again,  and  many 
others  have  said  the  same  to  us. 

Yes,  we  said  so. 

Then  to  do  one’s  own  business  in  a certain  way  may  be 
assumed  to  be  justice.  Can  you  tell  me  whence  I derive  this 
inference? 

I cannot,  but  I should  like  to  be  told. 

Because  I think  that  this  is  the  only  virtue  which  remains  in 
the  State  when  the  other  virtues  of  temperance  and  courage  and 
wisdom  are  abstracted;  and  that  this  is  the  ultimate  cause  and 
condition  of  the  existence  of  all  of  them,  and  while  remaining  in 
them  is  also  their  preservative;  and  we  were  saying  that  if  the 
three  were  discovered  by  us,  justice  would  be  the  fourth  or 
remaining  one. 

That  follows  of  necessity. 

If  we  were  asked  to  determine  which  of  these  four  qualities 
by  its  presence  contributes  most  to  the  excellence  of  the  State, 


THE  REPUBLIC 


31 


whether  the  agreement  of  rulers  and  subjects,  or  the  preservation 
in  the  soldiers  of  the  opinion  which  the  law  ordains  about  the  true 
nature  of  dangers,  or  wisdom  and  watchfulness  in  the  rulers,  or 
whether  this  other  which  I am  mentioning,  and  which  is  found  in 
children  and  women,  slave  and  freemen,  artisan,  ruler,  subject,  — 
the  quality,  I mean,  of  every  one  doing  his  own  work,  and  not 
being  a busybody,  — would  claim  the  palm,  the  question  is  not 
so  easily  answered. 

Certainly,  he  replied,  there  would  be  difficulty  in  saying  which. 

Then  the  power  of  each  individual  in  the  State  to  do  his  own 
work  appears  to  compete  with  the  other  political  virtues,  wisdom, 
temperance,  courage? 

Yes,  he  said. 

And  the  virtue  which  enters  into  this  competition  is  justice? 

Exactly. 

Let  us  look  at  the  question  from  another  point  of  view : Are 
not  the  rulers  in  a State  those  to  whom  you  would  entrust  the 
office  of  determining  suits  at  law  ? 

Certainly. 

And  are  suits  decided  on  any  other  ground  but  that  a man  may 
neither  take  what  is  another’s,  nor  be  deprived  of  what  is  his 
own? 

Yes;  that  is  their  principle. 

Which  is  a just  principle? 

Yes. 

Then  on  this  view  also  justice  will  be  admitted  to  be  the  hav- 
ing and  doing  what  is  a man’s  own,  and  belongs  to  him? 

Very  true. 

Think,  now,  and  say  whether  you  agree  with  me  or  not.  Sup- 
pose a carpenter  to  be  doing  the  business  of  a cobbler,  or  a cob- 
bler of  a carpenter;  and  suppose  them  to  exchange  their  imple- 
ments or  their  duties,  or  the  same  person  to  be  doing  the  work  of 
both ; do  you  think  that  any  great  harm  would  result  to  the  State  ? 

Not  much. 

But  when  the  cobbler  or  any  other  man  whom  nature  designed 
to  be  a trader,  having  his  heart  lifted  up  by  wealth  or  strength 
or  the  number  of  his  followers,  or  any  like  advantage,  attempts 


32 


PLATO 


to  force  his  way  into  the  class  of  warriors,  or  a warrior  into  that 
of  legislators  and  guardians,  for  which  he  is  unfitted,  and  either 
to  take  the  implements  or  the  duties  of  the  other;  or  when  one 
man  is  trader,  legislator,  and  warrior  all  in  one,  then  I think  you 
will  agree  with  me  that  this  interchange  and  meddling  of  one 
with  another  is  the  ruin  of  the  State. 

Most  true. 

Seeing  then,  I said,  that  there  are  three  distinct  classes,  any 
meddling  of  one  with  another,  or  the  change  of  one  into  another, 
is  the  greatest  harm  to  the  State,  and  may  be  most  justly  termed 
evil-doing  ? 

Precisely. 

And  the  greatest  degree  of  evil-doing  to  one’s  own  city  would 
be  termed  by  you  injustice? 

Certainly. 

This  then  is  injustice;  and  on  the  other  hand  when  the  trader, 
the  auxiliary,  and  the  guardian  each  do  their  own  business,  that 
is  justice,  and  will  make  the  city  just. 

I agree  with  you. 

We  will  not,  I said,  be  over-positive  as  yet;  but  if,  on  trial,  this 
conception  of  justice  be  verified  in  the  individual  as  well  as  in 
the  State,  then  there  will  be  no  longer  any  room  for  doubt;  if 
it  be  not  verified  we  must  have  a fresh  enquiry.  First  let  us  com- 
plete the  old  investigation,  which  we  began,  as  you  remember, 
under  the  impression  that,  if  we  could  previously  examine  jus- 
tice on  the  larger  scale,  there  would  be  less  difficulty  in  discern- 
ing her  in  the  individual.  That  larger  example  appeared  to  be  the 
State,  and  accordingly  we  constructed  one,  as  good  a one  as  we 
could,  knowing  well  that  in  the  good  State  justice  would  be  found. 
Let  the  discovery  which  we  made  be  now  applied  to  the  indi- 
vidual— if  they  agree,  we  shall  be  satisfied;  or,  if  there  be  a 
difference  in  the  individual,  we  will  come  back  to  the  State  and 
have  another  trial  of  the  theory.  The  friction  of  the  two  when 
rubbed  together  may  possibly  strike  a light  in  which  justice  will 
shine  forth,  and  the  vision  which  is  then  revealed  we  will  fix  in 
our  souls. 

That  will  be  in  regular  course;  and  let  us  do  as  you  say. 


THE  REPUBLIC 


33 


I proceeded  to  ask : When  two  things,  a greater  and  less,  are 
called  by  the  same  name,  are  they  like  or  unlike  in  so  far  as  they 
are  called  the  same? 

Like,  he  replied. 

The  just  man  then,  if  we  regard  the  idea  of  justice  only,  will 
be  like  the  just  State? 

He  will. 

And  a State  was  thought  by  us  to  be  just  when  the  three  classes 
in  the  State  severally  did  their  own  business;  and  also  thought 
to  be  temperate  and  valiant  and  wise  by  reason  of  certain  other 
affections  and  qualities  of  these  same  classes? 

True,  he  said. 

And  so  of  the  individual ; we  may  assume  that  he  has  the  same 
three  principles  in  his  own  soul,  which  are  found  in  the  State; 
and  he  may  be  rightly  described  in  the  same  terms,  because  he 
is  affected  in  the  same  manner? 

Certainly,  he  said. 

Once  more  then,  O my  friend,  we  have  alighted  upon  an  easy 
question  — whether  the  soul  has  these  three  principles  or  not  ? 

An  easy  question!  Nay,  rather,  Socrates,  the  proverb  holds 
that  hard  is  the  good. 

Very  true,  I said;  and  I do  not  think  that  the  method  which  we 
are  employing  is  at  all  adequate  to  the  accurate  solution  of  this 
question;  the  true  method  is  another  and  a longer  one.  Still  we 
may  arrive  at  a solution  not  below  the  level  of  the  previous 
enquiry. 

May  we  not  be  satisfied  with  that?  he  said;  — under  the  cir- 
cumstances, I am  quite  content. 

I too,  I replied,  shall  be  extremely  w^ell  satisfied. 

Then  faint  not  in  pursuing  the  speculation,  he  said. 

Must  we  not  acknowledge,  I said,  that  in  each  of  us  there  are 
the  same  principles  and  habits  which  there  are  in  the  State;  and 
that  from  the  individual  they  pass  into  the  State?  — how  else 
can  they  come  there?  Take  the  quality  of  passion  or  spirit;  — 
it  would  be  ridiculous  to  imagine  that  this  quality,  when  found 
in  States,  is  not  derived  from  the  individuals  wJ;io  are  supposed 
to  possess  it,  e.  g.  the  Thracians,  Scythians,  and  in  general  the 


34 


PLATO 


northern  nations;  and  the  same  may  be  said  of  the  love  of  know- 
ledge, which  is  the  special  characteristic  of  our  part  of  the  world, 
or  the  love  of  money,  which  may,  with  equal  truth,  be  attributed 
to  the  Phoenicians  and  Egyptians. 

Exactly  so,  he  said. 

There  is  no  difficulty  in  understanding  this. 

None  whatever. 


And  so,  after  much  tossing,  we  have  reached  land,  and  are 
fairly  agreed  that  the  same  principles  which  exist  in  the  State, 
exist  in  the  individual,  and  that  they  are  three  in  number. 

Exactly. 

Must  we  not  then  infer  that  the  individual  is  wise  in  the  same 
way,  and  in  virtue  of  the  same  quality  which  makes  the  State 
wise? 

Certainly. 

And  that  the  same  quality  which  constitutes  courage  in  the 
State  constitutes  courage  in  the  individual,  that  both  the  State 
and  the  individual  bear  the  same  relation  to  all  the  other  virtues  ? 

Assuredly. 

And  the  individual  will  be  acknowledged  by  us  to  be  just  in 
the  same  way  that  the  State  is  just? 

That  follows  of  course. 

We  cannot  but  remember  that  the  justice  of  the  State  con- 
sisted in  each  of  the  three  classes  doing  the  work  of  its  own  class? 

We  are  not  very  likely  to  have  forgotten,  he  said. 

We  must  recollect  that  the  individual  in  whom  the  several 
qualities  of  his  nature  do  their  own  work  will  be  just,  and  will 
do  his  own  work? 

Yes,  he  said,  we  must  remember  that  too. 

And  ought  not  the  rational  principle,  which  is  wise,  and  has 
the  care  of  the  whole  soul,  to  rule,  and  the  passionate  or  spirited 
principle  to  be  the  subject  and  ally? 

Certainly. 

And,  as  we  were  saying,  the  united  influence  of  music  and 
gymnastic  will  bring  them  into  accord,  nerving  and  sustaining 
the  reason  with  noble  words  and  lessons,  and  moderating  and 


THE  REPUBLIC 


35 

soothing  and  civilizing  the  wildness  of  passion,  by  harmony  and 
rhythm? 

Quite  true,  he  said. 

And  these  two,  thus  nurtured  and  educated,  and  having 
learned  truly  to  know  their  own  functions,  will  rule  over  the  con- 
cupiscent, wEich  in  each  of  us  is  the  largest  part  of  the  soul  and 
by  nature  most  insatiable  of  gain ; over  this  they  will  keep  guard, 
lest,  waxing  great  with  the  fulness  of  bodily  pleasures,  as  they 
are  termed,  the  concupiscent  soul  no  longer  confined  to  her  own 
sphere,  should  attempt  to  enslave  and  rule  those  who  are  not  her 
natural-born  subjects,  and  overturn  the  whole  life  of  man? 

Very  true,  he  said. 

Both  together  will  they  not  be  the  best  defenders  of  the  whole 
soul  and  the  whole  body  against  attacks  from  without ; the  one 
counselling,  and  the  other  fighting  under  his  leader,  and  cour- 
ageously executing  his  commands  and  counsels. 

True. 

And  he  is  to  be  deemed  courageous  whose  spirit  retains  fast 
in  pleasure  and  in  pain  the  commands  of  reason  about  what  he 
ought  or  ought  not  to  fear? 

Right,  he  replied. 

And  him  we  call  wise  who  has  in  him  that  little  part  which 
rules,  and  which  proclaims  these  commands ; that  part  too  being 
supposed  to  have  a knowledge  of  what  is  for  the  interest  of  each 
of  the  three  parts  and  of  the  whole? 

Assuredly. 

And  would  you  not  say  that  he  is  temperate  who  has  these 
same  elements  in  friendly  harmony,  in  whom  the  one  ruling  prin- 
ciple of  reason  and  the  two  subject  ones  of  spirit  and  desire  are 
equally  agreed  that  reason  ought  to  rule,  and  do  not  rebel  ? 

Certainly,  he  said,  that  is  the  true  account  of  temperance 
whether  in  the  State  or  individual. 

And  surely,  I said,  we  have  explained  again  and  again  how 
and  by  virtue  of  what  quality  a man  will  be  just. 

That  is  very  certain. 

And  is  justice  dimmer  in  the  individual,  and  is  her  form  dif- 
ferent, or  is  she  the  same  which  we  found  in  the  State? 


36  PLATO 

There  is  no  difference  in  my  opinion,  he  said. 

Because,  if  any  doubt  is  still  lingering  in  our  minds,  a few 
commonplace  instances  will  satisfy  us  of  the  truth  of  what  I am 
saying. 

What  sort  of  instances  do  you  mean? 

If  the  case  is  put  to  us,  must  we  not  admit  that  the  just  State, 
or  the  man  who  is  trained  in  the  principles  of  such  a State,  will 
be  less  likely  than  the  unjust  to  make  away  with  a deposit  of  gold 
or  silver?  Would  any  one  deny  this? 

No  one,  he  replied. 

Will  the  just  man  or  citizen  ever  be  guilty  of  sacrilege  or  theft, 
or  treachery  either  to  his  friends  or  to  his  country? 

That  will  be  far  from  him. 

Neither  will  he  ever  break  faith  where  there  have  been  oaths 
or  agreements? 

Impossible. 

No  one  will  be  less  likely  to  commit  adultery,  or  to  dishonour 
his  father  and  mother,  or  to  fail  in  his  religious  duties? 

No  one. 

And  the  reason  is  that  each  part  of  him  is  doing  its  own  busi- 
ness, whether  in  ruling  or  being  ruled? 

Very  true. 

Are  you  satisfied  then  that  the  quality  which  makes  such  men 
and  such  States  is  justice,  or  do  you  hope  to  discover  some  other  ? 

Not  I,  indeed. 

Then  our  dream  has  been  realized;  and  the  suspicion  that 
we  entertained  at  the  beginning  of  our  work  of  construction,  that 
some  divine  power  must  have  conducted  us  to  a primary  form  of 
justice  — that  suspicion  of  ours  has  been  now  verified? 

And  the  division  of  labour  which  required  the  carpenter  and 
the  shoemaker  and  the  rest  of  the  citizens  to  be  doing  each  his 
own  business,  and  not  another’s,  was  a shadow  of  justice,  and  for 
that  reason  it  was  of  use? 

Clearly. 

But  in  reality  justice  was  such  as  we  were  describing,  being 
concerned  not  with  the  outward  man,  but  with  the  inward,  which 
is  the  true  self  and  concernment  of  man:  for  the  just  man  does 


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37 


not  permit  the  several  elements  within  him  to  interfere  with  one 
another,  or  any  of  them  to  do  the  work  of  others,  — but  he  sets 
in  order  his  own  inner  life,  and  is  his  own  master,  and  his  own 
law,  and  at  peace  with  himself;  and  when  he  has  bound  together 
the  three  principles  within  him,  which  may  be  compared  to  the 
higher,  lower,  and  middle  notes  of  the  scale,  and  the  intermediate 
intervals  — w'hen  he  has  bound  all  these  together,  and  is  no 
longer  many,  but  has  become  one  entirely  temperate  and  per- 
fectly adjusted  nature,  then  he  proceeds  to  act,  if  he  has  to  act, 
whether  in  a matter  of  property,  or  in  the  treatment  of  the  body, 
or  in  some  affair  of  politics  or  private  business;  always  thinking 
and  calling  that  which  preserves  and  cooperates  with  this  har- 
monious condition,  just  and  good  action,  and  the  knowledge 
which  presides  over  it,  wisdom,  and  that  which  at  any  time  im- 
pairs this  condition,  he  will  call  unjust  action,  and  the  opinion 
which  presides  over  it  ignorance. 

You  have  said  the  exact  truth,  Socrates. 

Very  good;  and  if  we  were  to  affirm  that  we  had  discovered 
the  just  man  and  the  just  State,  and  the  place  of  justice  in  each 
of  them,  we  should  not  be  telling  a falsehood? 

Most  certainly  not. 


BOOK  VI.  THE  IDEA  OF  THE  GOOD 

Socrates  Glaucon 

Steph.  pop 

You  may  remember,  I said,  that  we  divided  the  soul  into  three 
parts;  and  distinguished  the  several  natures  of  justice,  temper- 
ance, courage,  and  wisdom? 

Indeed,  he  said,  if  I had  forgotten  that,  I should  not  deserve 
to  hear  more. 

And  do  you  remember  the  word  of  caution  which  preceded 
the  discussion  of  them? 

To  what  do  you  refer? 

We  were  saying,  if  I am  not  mistaken,  that  he  who  wanted  to 
see  them  in  their  perfect  beauty  must  take  a longer  and  more 


PLATO 


38 

circuitous  way,  at  the  end  of  which  they  would  appear;  but  that 
we  could  add  on  a popular  exposition  of  them  on  a level  with  the 
discussion  which  had  preceded.  And  you  replied  that  such  an 
exposition  would  be  enough  for  you,  and  so  the  enquiry  was  con- 
tinued in  what  appeared  to  me  to  be  a very  inaccurate  manner ; 
whether  you  were  satisfied  or  not  is  for  you  to  say. 

Yes,  he  said,  1 thought  and  the  others  thought  that  you  gave 
us  a fair  measure  of  truth. 

But,  my  friend,  I said,  a measure  of  such  things  which  in  any 
degree  falls  short  of  the  truth  is  not  fair  measure;  for  nothing 
imperfect  is  the  measure  of  anything,  although  persons  are  too 
apt  to  be  contented  and  think  that  they  need  search  no  further. 

Not  an  uncommon  case  when  people  are  indolent. 

Yes,  I said;  and  there  cannot  be  any  worse  fault  in  a guardian 
of  the  State  and  of  the  laws. 

True. 

The  guardian  then,  I said,  must  be  required  to  take  the  longer 
circuit,  and  toil  at  learning  as  well  as  at  gymnastics,  or  he  will 
never  reach  the  highest  knowledge  of  all,  which,  as  we  were  just 
now  saying,  is  his  proper  calling. 

What,  he  said,  is  there  a knowledge  still  higher  than  this  — 
higher  than  justice  and  the  other  virtues? 

Yes,  I said,  there  is.  And  of  these  too  we  must  behold  not  the 
outline  merely,  as  at  present  — nothing  short  of  the  most  finished 
work  should  satisfy  us.  When  little  things  are  elaborated  with 
an  infinity  of  pains,  in  order  that  they  may  appear  in  their  full 
beauty  and  utmost  clearness,  how  ridiculous  that  we  should  not 
think  the  highest  truths  worthy  of  attaining  the  greatest  exact- 
ness! 

A right  noble  thought;  but  do  you  suppose  that  we  shall  re- 
frain from  asking  you  what  is  the  highest  knowledge? 

Nay,  I said,  ask  if  you  will;  but  I am  certain  that  you 
have  heard  the  answer  many  times,  and  now  you  either  do  not 
understand  me  or  you  mean  to  be  troublesome;  for  you  have 
often  been  told  that  the  idea  of  good  is  the  highest  knowledge, 
and  that  all  other  things  become  useful  and  advantageous  only 
by  their  use  of  this.  You  can  hardly  be  ignorant  that  of  this  I 


THE  REPUBLIC 


39 


was  about  to  speak,  concerning  which,  as  you  have  often  heard 
me  say,  we  know  so  little;  and,  without  which,  any  other  know- 
ledge or  possession  of  any  kind  will  profit  us  nothing.  Do  you 
think  that  the  possession  of  all  other  things  is  of  any  value  if  we 
do  not  possess  the  good  ? or  the  knowledge  of  all  other  things  if 
we  have  no  knowledge  of  beauty  and  goodness? 

Assuredly  not. 

You  are  further  aware  that  most  people  affirm  pleasure  to  be 
the  good,  but  the  finer  sort  of  wits  say  it  is  knowledge? 

Yes. 

And  you  are  aware  too  that  the  latter  cannot  explain  what 
they  mean  by  knowledge,  but  are  obliged  after  all  to  say  know- 
ledge of  the  good? 

How  ridiculous! 

Yes,  I said,  that  they  should  begin  by  reproaching  us  with  our 
ignorance  of  the  good,  and  then  presume  our  knowledge  of  it  — 
for  good  they  define  to  be  the  knowledge  of  the  good,  just  as 
if  we  understood  them  when  they  used  the  term  “good”  — this 
is  of  course  ridiculous. 

Most  true,  he  said. 

And  those  who  make  pleasure  their  good  are  in  equal  per- 
plexity; for  they  are  compelled  to  admit  that  there  are  bad 
pleasures  as  well  as  good. 

Certainly. 

And  therefore  to  acknowledge  that  bad  and  good  are  the  same  ? 

True. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  about  the  numerous  difficulties  in 
which  this  question  is  involved. 

There  can  be  none. 

Further,  do  we  not  see  that  many  are  wiring  to  do  or  to  have 
or  to  seem  to  be  the  just  and  honourable  without  the  reality;  but 
no  one  is  satisfied  with  the  appearance  of  good  — the  reality  is 
what  they  seek ; in  the  case  of  the  good,  appearance  is  despised 
by  every  one. 

Very  true,  he  said. 

Of  this  then,  which  every  soul  of  man  pursues  and  makes  the 
end  of  all  his  actions,  having  a presentiment  that  there  is  such  an 


40 


PLATO 


end,  and  yet  hesitating  because  neither  knowing  the  nature  nor 
having  the  same  assurance  of  this  as  of  other  things,  and  there- 
fore losing  whatever  good  there  is  in  other  things,  — of  a prin- 
ciple such  and  so  great  as  this  ought  the  best  men  in  our  State,  to 
whom  everything  is  entrusted,  to  be  in  the  darkness  of  igno- 
rance? 

Certainly  not,  he  said. 

I am  sure,  I said,  that  he  who  does  not  know  how  the  beauti- 
ful and  the  just  are  likewise  good  will  be  but  a sorry  guardian  of 
them ; and  I suspect  that  no  one  who  is  ignorant  of  the  good  will 
have  a true  knowledge  of  them. 

That,  he  said,  is  a shrewd  suspicion  of  yours. 

And  if  we  only  have  a guardian  who  has  this  knowledge  our 
State  will  be  perfectly  ordered? 

Of  course,  he  replied;  but  I wish  that  you  would  tell  me 
whether  you  conceive  this  supreme  principle  of  the  good  to  be 
knowledge  or  pleasure,  or  different  from  either? 

Aye,  I said,  I knew  quite  well  that  a fastidious  gentleman  like 
you  would  not  be  contented  with  the  thoughts  of  other  people 
about  these  matters. 

True,  Socrates;  but  I must  say  that  one  who  like  you  has 
passed  a lifetime  in  the  study  of  philosophy  should  not  be  always 
repeating  the  opinions  of  others,  and  never  telling  his  own. 

Well,  but  has  any  one  a right  to  say  positively  what  he  does 
not  know? 

Not,  he  said,  with  the  assurance  of  positive  certainty;  he  has  - 
no  right  to  do  that : but  he  may  say  what  he  thinks,  as  a matter 
of  opinion. 

And  do  you  not  know,  I said,  that  all  mere  opinions  are  bad, 
and  the  best  of  them  blind?  You  would  not  deny  that  those  who 
have  any  true  notion  without  intelligence  are  only  like  blind  men 
who  find  their  way  along  the  road  ? 

Very  true. 

And  do  you  wish  to  behold  what  is  blind  and  crooked  and  base, 
when  others  will  tell  you  of  brightness  and  beauty? 

Still,  I must  implore  you,  Socrates,  said  Glaucon,  not  to  turn 
away  just  as  you  are  reaching  the  goal;  if  you  will  only  give 


THE  REPUBLIC 


41 


such  an  explanation  of  the  good  as  you  have  already  given  of 
justice  and  temperance  and  the  other  virtues,  vve  shall  be  satis- 
fied. 

Yes,  my  friend,  and  I shall  be  at  least  equally  satisfied,  but  I 
cannot  help  fearing  that  I shall  fail,  and  that  my  indiscreet  zeal 
will  bring  ridicule  upon  me.  No,  sweet  sirs,  let  us  not  at  present 
ask  what  is  the  actual  nature  of  the  good,  for  to  reach  what  is 
now  in  my  thoughts  would  be  an  effort  too  great  for  me.  But  of 
the  child  of  the  good  who  is  likest  him,  I would  fain  speak,  if  I 
could  be  sure  that  you  wished  to  hear  — otherwise,  not. 

By  all  means,  he  said,  tell  us  about  the  child,  and  you  shall 
remain  in  our  debt  for  an  account  of  the  parent. 

I do  indeed  wish,  I replied,  that  I could  pay,  and  you  receive, 
an  account  of  the  parent,  and  not,  as  now,  of  the  offspring  only; 
take,  however,  this  byway  of  interest,*  and  at  the  same  time  have 
a care  that  I do  not  render  a false  account,  although  I have  no 
intention  of  deceiving  you. 

Yes,  we  will  take  all  the  care  that  we  can:  proceed. 

Yes,  I said,  but  I must  first  come  to  an  understanding  with 
you,  and  remind  you  of  what  I have  mentioned  in  the  course  of 
this  discussion,  and  at  many  other  times. 

What? 

The  old  story,  that  there  is  a many  beautiful  and  a many  good, 
and  so  of  other  things  which  we  describe  and  define;  to  all  of 
them  the  term  “many”  is  applied. 

True,  he  said. 

And  there  is  an  absolute  beauty  and  an  absolute  good,  and  of 
other  things  to  which  the  term  “many”  is  applied  there  is  an 
absolute;  for  they  may  be  brought  under  a single  idea,  which  is 
called  the  essence  of  each. 

Very  true. 

The  many,  as  we  say,  are  seen  but  not  known,  and  the  ideas 
are  known  but  not  seen. 

Exactly. 

And  what  is  the  organ  with  which  we  see  the  visible  things? 

The  sight,  he  said. 

‘ A play  upon  t6kos,  which  means  both  “offspring”  and  “interest.” 


42 


PLATO 


And  with  the  hearing,  I said,  we  hear,  and  with  the  other 
senses  perceive  the  other  objects  of  sense? 

True. 

But  have  you  remarked  that  sight  is  by  far  the  most  costly 
and  complex  piece  of  workmanship  which  the  artificer  of  the 
senses  ever  contrived? 

No,  I never  have,  he  said. 

Then  reflect : has  the  ear  or  voice  need  of  any  third  or  addi- 
tional nature  in  order  that  the  one  may  be  able  to  hear  and  the 
other  to  be  heard? 

Nothing  of  the  sort. 

No,  indeed,  I replied;  and  the  same  is  true  of  most,  if  not  all, 
the  other  senses  — you  would  not  say  that  any  of  them  requires 
such  an  addition? 

Indeed  not. 

But  you  see  that  without  the  addition  there  is  no  seeing  or 
being  seen? 

How  do  you  mean? 

Sight  being,  as  I conceive,  in  the  eyes,  and  he  who  has  eyes 
wanting  to  see;  colour  being  also  present  in  them,  still  unless  there 
be  a third  nature  specially  adapted  to  the  purpose,  the  owner  of 
the  eyes  will  see  nothing  and  the  colours  will  be  invisible. 

Of  what  nature  are  you  speaking? 

Of  that  which  you  term  light,  I replied. 

True,  he  said. 

Noble,  then,  is  the  bond  which  links  together  sight  and  visi- 
bility, and  great  beyond  other  bonds  by  no  small  difference  of 
nature;  for  light  is  their  bond,  and  light  is  no  ignoble  thing? 

Nay,  he  said,  the  reverse  of  ignoble. 

And  which,  I said,  of  the  gods  in  heaven  would  you  say  was 
the  lord  of  this  element?  Whose  is  that  light  which  makes  the 
eye  to  see  perfectly  and  the  visible  to  appear? 

You  mean  the  sun,  as  you  and  all  mankind  say. 

May  not  the  relation  of  sight  to  this  deity  be  described  as  follows  ? 

How? 

Neither  sight  nor  the  eye  in  which  sight  resides  is  the  sun? 

No. 


THE  REPUBLIC 


43 

Yet  of  all  the  organs  of  sense  the  eye  is  the  most  like  the  sun? 

By  far  the  most  like. 

And  the  power  which  the  eye  possesses  is  a sort  of  effluence 
which  is  dispensed  from  the  sun? 

Exactly. 

Then  the  sun  is  not  sight,  but  the  author  of  sight  who  is  rec- 
ognized by  sight? 

True,  he  said. 

And  this  is  he  whom  I call  the  child  of  the  good,  whom  the 
good  begat  in  his  own  likeness,  to  be  in  the  visible  world,  in  re- 
lation to  sight  and  the  things  of  sight,  what  the  good  is  in  the 
intellectual  world  in  relation  to  mind  and  the  things  of 
mind. 

Will  you  be  a little  more  explicit?  he  said. 

Why,  you  know,  I said,  that  the  eyes,  when  a person  directs 
them  towards  objects  on  which  the  light  of  day  is  no  longer 
shining,  but  the  moon  and  stars  only,  see  dimly,  and  are  nearly 
blind;  they  seem  to  have  no  clearness  of  vision  in  them? 

Very  true. 

But  when  they  are  directed  towards  objects  on  which  the  sun 
shines,  they  see  clearly  and  there  is  sight  in  them? 

Certainly. 

And  the  soul  is  like  the  eye : when  resting  upon  that  on  which 
truth  and  being  shine,  the  soul  perceives  and  understands,  and  is 
radiant  with  intelligence;  but  when  turned  towards  the  twilight 
of  becoming  and  perishing,  then  she  has  opinion  only,  and  goes 
blinking  about,  and  is  first  of  one  opinion  and  then  of  another, 
and  seems  to  have  no  intelligence? 

Just  so. 

Now,  that  which  imparts  truth  to  the  known  and  the  power  of 
knowing  to  the  knower  is  what  I would  have  you  term  the  idea 
of  good,  and  this  you  will  deem  to  be  the  cause  of  science  and  of 
truth,  in  so  far  as  the  latter  becomes  the  subject  of  knowledge ; 
beautiful  too,  as  are  both  truth  and  knowledge,  you  will  be  right 
in  esteeming  this  other  nature  as  more  beautiful  than  either ; and 
as,  in  the  previous  instance,  light  and  sight  may  be  truly  said  to 
be  like  the  sun,  and  yet  not  to  be  the  sun,  so  in  this  other  sphere. 


44 


PLATO 


science  and  truth  may  be  deemed  like  the  good,  but  not  the  good; 
the  good  has  a place  of  honour  yet  higher. 

What  a wonder  of  beauty  that  must  be,  he  said,  which  is  the 
author  of  science  and  truth,  and  yet  surpasses  them  in  beauty ; 
for  you  surely  cannot  mean  to  say  that  pleasure  is  the  good? 

God  forbid,  I replied;  but  may  I ask  you  to  consider  the 
image  in  another  point  of  view  ? 

In  what  point  of  view  ? 

You  would  say,  would  you  not,  that  the  sun  is  not  only  the 
author  of  visibility  in  all  visible  things,  but  of  generation  and 
nourishment  and  growth,  though  he  himself  is  not  generation? 

Certainly, 

In  like  manner  the  good  * may  be  said  to  be  not  only  the  au- 
thor of  knowledge  to  all  things  known,  but  of  their  being  and 
essence,  and  yet  the  good  is  not  essence,  but  far  exceeds  essence 
in  dignity  and  power. 

* The  elements  of  this  supreme  good  are  summarized  by  Plato  in  one  of  his 
latest  works,  the  Philebus,  as  follows;  — 

[Steph.  66  A]  Soc.  Then,  Protarchus,  you  will  proclaim  everywhere,  by  word 
of  mouth  to  this  company,  and  by  messengers  bearing  the  tidings  far,  that  pleas- 
ure is  not  the  first  of  possessions,  nor  yet  the  second,  but  that  in  measure,  and 
the  mean,  and  the  suitable,  and  the  like  the  eternal  nature  has  been  found. 

Pro.  Yes,  that  seems  to  be  the  result  of  what  has  now  been  said. 

Soc.  In  the  second  class  is  contained  the  symmetrical  and  beautiful  and  per- 
fect or  sufficient,  and  all  which  are  of  that  family. 

Pro.  T rue. 

Soc.  And  if  you  reckon  in  the  third  class  mind  and  wisdom,  you  will  not  be 
far  wrong,  if  I divine  aright.  ‘ 

Pro.  I dare  say. 

Soc.  And  would  you  not  put  in  the  fourth  class  the  goods  which  we  were  af- 
firming to  appertain  especially  to  the  soul  — sciences  and  arts  and  true  opinions 
as  we  call  them  ? These  come  after  the  third  class,  and  form  the  fourth,  as  they 
are  certainly  more  akin  to  good  than  pleasure  is. 

Pro.  Surely. 

Soc.  The  fifth  class  are  the  pleasures  which  were  defined  by  us  as  painless, 
being  the  pure  pleasures  of  the  soul  herself,  as  we  termed  them,  which  accom- 
pany, some  the  sciences,  some  the  senses. 

Pro.  Perhaps. 

Soc.  And  now,  as  Orpheus  says,  — 

With  the  sixth  generation  cease  the  glory  of  my  song. 

Here,  at  the  sixth  award,  let  us  make  an  end. 


THE  REPUBLIC 


45 


BOOK  VII.  THE  JLLEGORT  OF  THE  CAVE 

Socrates  Glaucon 

Steph.  514 

And  now,  I said,  let  me  show  in  a figure  how  far  our  nature  is 
enlightened  or  unenlightened:  Behold!  human  beings  living 
in  an  underground  den,  which  has  a mouth  open  towards  the 
light  and  reaching  all  along  the  den;  they  have  been  here  from 
their  childhood,  and  have  their  legs  and  necks  chained  so  that 
they  cannot  move,  and  can  only  see  before  them;  for  the  chains 
are  arranged  in  such  a manner  as  to  prevent  them  from  turning 
round  their  heads.  Above  and  behind  them  the  light  of  a fire 
is  blazing  at  a distance,  and  between  the  fire  and  the  prisoners 
there  is  a raised  way;  and  you  will  see,  if  you  look,  a low  wall 
built  along  the  way,  like  the  screen  which  marionette  players 
have  in  front  of  them,  over  which  they  show  the  puppets. 

I see. 

And  do  you  see,  I said,  men  passing  along  the  wall,  carrying 
all  sorts  of  vessels,  and  statues  and  figures  of  animals  made  of 
wood  and  stone  and  various  materials,  which  appear  over  the 
wall?  Some  of  them  are  talking,  others  silent. 

You  have  shown  me  a strange  image,  and  they  are  strange 
prisoners. 

Like  ourselves,  I replied ; and  they  see  only  their  own  shadows, 
or  the  shadows  of  one  another,  which  the  fire  throws  on  the  op- 
posite wall  of  the  cave? 

True,  he  said;  how  could  they  see  anything  but  the  shadows 
if  they  were  never  allowed  to  move  their  heads? 

And  of  the  objects  which  are  being  carried  in  like  manner  they 
would  only  see  the  shadows? 

Yes,  he  said. 

And  if  they  were  able  to  converse  with  one  another,  would  they 
not  suppose  that  they  were  naming  what  was  actually  before 
them? 

Very  true. 

And  suppose  further  that  the  prison  had  an  echo  which  came 


46 


PLATO 


from  the  other  side,  would  they  not  be  sure  to  fancy  when  one  of 
the  passers-by  spoke  that  the  voice  which  they  heard  came  from 
the  passing  shadow? 

No  question,  he  replied. 

To  them,  I said,  the  truth  would  be  literally  nothing  but  the 
shadows  of  the  images. 

That  is  certain. 

And  now  look  again,  and  see  what  will  naturally  follow  if  the 
prisoners  are  released  and  disabused  of  their  error.  At  first,  when 
any  one  of  them  is  liberated  and  compelled  suddenly  to  stand  up 
and  turn  his  neck  round  and  walk  and  look  towards  the  light,  he 
will  suffer  sharp  pains;  the  glare  will  distress  him,  and  he  will  be 
unable  to  see  the  realities  of  which  in  his  former  state  he  had  seen 
the  shadows;  and  then  conceive  some  one  saying  to  him,  that 
what  he  saw  before  was  an  illusion,  but  that  now  when  he  is  ap- 
proaching nearer  to  being  and  his  eye  is  turned  towards  more 
real  existence,  he  has  a clearer  vision,  — what  will  be  his  reply? 
And  you  may  further  imagine  that  his  instructor  is  pointing  to 
the  objects  as  they  pass  and  requiring  him  to  name  them,  — will 
he  not  be  perplexed?  Will  he  not  fancy  that  the  shadows  which 
he  formerly  saw  are  truer  than  the  objects  which  are  now  shown 
to  him? 

Far  truer. 

And  if  he  is  compelled  to  look  straight  at  the  light,  will  he  not 
have  a pain  in  his  eyes  which  will  make  him  turn  away  to  take 
refuge  in  the  objects  of  vision  which  he  can  see,  and  which  he 
will  conceive  to  be  in  reality  clearer  than  the  things  which  are 
now  being  shown  to  him? 

True,  he  said. 

And  suppose  once  more,  that  he  is  reluctantly  dragged  up  a 
steep  and  rugged  ascent,  and  held  fast  until  he  is  forced  into  the 
presence  of  the  sun  himself,  is  he  not  likely  to  be  pained  and 
irritated  ? When  he  approaches  the  light  his  eyes  will  be  dazzled, 
and  he  will  not  be  able  to  see  anything  at  all  of  what  are  now 
called  realities. 

Not  all  in  a moment,  he  said. 

He  will  require  to  grow  accustomed  to  the  sight  of  the  upper 


THE  REPUBLIC 


47 


world.  And  first  he  will  see  the  shadows  best,  next  the  reflections 
of  men  and  other  objects  in  the  water,  and  then  the  objects  them- 
selves ; then  he  will  gaze  upon  the  light  of  the  moon  and  the  stars 
and  the  spangled  heaven ; and  he  will  see  the  sky  and  the  stars  by 
night  better  than  the  sun  or  the  light  of  the  sun  by  day? 

Certainly. 

Last  of  all  he  will  be  able  to  see  the  sun,  and  not  mere  reflec- 
tions of  him  in  the  water,  but  he  will  see  him  as  he  is  in  his  own 
proper  place,  and  not  in  another;  and  he  will  contemplate  him  as 
he  is. 

Certainly. 

He  will  proceed  to  argue  that  this  sun  is  he  who  gives  the  sea- 
sons and  the  years,  and  is  the  guardian  of  all  that  is  in  the  visi- 
ble world,  and  in  a certain  way  the  cause  of  all  things  which  he 
and  his  fellows  have  been  accustomed  to  behold? 

Clearly,  he  said,  he  would  first  see  the  sun  and  then  reason 
about  him. 

And  when  he  remembered  his  old  habitation,  and  the  wisdom 
of  the  den  and  his  fellow-prisoners,  do  you  not  suppose  that  he 
would  felicitate  himself  on  the  change,  and  pity  them? 

Certainly,  he  would. 

And  if  they  were  in  the  habit  of  conferring  honours  among 
themselves  on  those  who  were  quickest  to  observe  the  passing 
shadows  and  to  remark  which  of  them  went  before,  and  which 
followed  after,  and  which  were  together;  and  who  were  therefore 
best  able  to  draw  conclusions  as  to  the  future,  do  you  think  that 
he  would  care  for  such  honours  and  glories,  or  envy  the  posses- 
sors of  them?  Would  he  not  say  with  Homer, 

Better  to  be  the  poor  servant  of  a poor  master, 

and  to  endure  anything,  rather  than  to  think  as  they  do  and  live 
after  their  manner? 

Yes,  he  said,  I think  that  he  would  rather  suffer  anything  than 
entertain  these  false  notions  and  live  in  this  miserable  manner. 

Imagine  once  more,  I said,  such  an  one  coming  suddenly  out 
of  the  sun  to  be  replaced  in  his  old  situation;  would  he  not  be 
certain  to  have  his  eyes  full  of  darkness? 


PLATO 


48 

To  be  sure,  he  said. 

And  if  there  were  a contest,  and  he  had  to  compete  in  measur- 
ing the  shadows  with  the  prisoners  who  had  never  moved  out  of 
the  den,  while  his  sight  was  still  weak,  and  before  his  eyes  had 
become  steady  (and  the  time  which  would  be  needed  to  acquire 
this  new  habit  of  sight  might  be  very  considerable),  would  he  not 
be  ridiculous  ? Men  would  say  of  him  that  up  he  went  and  down 
he  came  without  his  eyes;  and  that  it  was  better  not  even  to  think 
of  ascending;  and  if  any  one  tried  to  loose  another  and  lead  him 
up  to  the  light,  let  them  only  catch  the  offender,  and  they  would 
put  him  to  death. 

No  question,  he  said. 

This  entire  allegory,  I said,  you  may  now  append,  dear  Glau- 
con,  to  the  previous  argument ; the  prison-house  is  the  world  of 
sight,  the  light  of  the  fire  is  the  sun,  and  you  will  not  misappre- 
hend me  if  you  interpret  the  journey  upward  to  be  the  ascent 
of  the  soul  into  the  intellectual  world  according  to  my  poor  be- 
lief, which,  at  your  desire,  I have  expressed  — whether  rightly  or 
wrongly  God  knows.  But,  whether  true  or  false,  my  opinion  is 
that  in  the  world  of  knowledge  the  idea  of  good  appears  last  of 
all,  and  is  seen  only  with  an  effort;  and,  when  seen,  is  also  in- 
ferred to  be  the  universal  author  of  all  things  beautiful  and  right, 
parent  of  light  and  of  the  lord  of  light  in  this  world,  and  the  source 
of  truth  and  reason  in  the  intellectual ; and  that  this  thing  is  the 
power  upon  which  he  who  would  act  rationally  either  in  public  or 
private  life  must  have  his  eye  fixed. 

I agree,  he  said,  as  far  as  I am  able  to  understand  you. 

Moreover,  I said,  you  must  not  wonder  that  those  who  attain 
to  this  beatific  vision  are  unwilling  to  descend  to  human  affairs; 
for  their  souls  are  ever  hastening  into  the  upper  world  where  they 
desire  to  dwell;  which  desire  of  theirs  is  very  natural,  if  our 
allegory  may  be  trusted. 

Yes,  very  natural. 

And  is  there  anything  surprising  in  one  who  passes  from  divine 
contemplations  to  the  evil  state  of  man,  misbehaving  himself 
in  a ridiculous  manner;  if,  while  his  eyes  are  blinking  and  before 
he  has  become  accustomed  to  the  surrounding  darkness,  he  is 


THE  REPUBLIC 


49 


compelled  to  fight  in  courts  of  law,  or  in  other  places,  about  the 
images  or  shadows  of  images  of  justice,  and  is  endeavouring  to 
meet  the  conceptions  of  those  who  have  never  yet  seen  absolute 
justice? 

Anything  but  surprising,  he  replied. 

Any  one  who  has  common  sense  will  remember  that  the  be- 
wilderments of  the  eyes  are  of  two  kinds,  and  arise  from  two 
causes,  either  from  coming  out  of  the  light  or  from  going  into  the 
light,  which  is  true  of  the  mind’s  eye,  quite  as  much  as  of  the 
bodily  eye;  and  he  who  remembers  this  when  he  sees  any  one 
whose  vision  is  perplexed  and  weak,  will  not  be  too  ready  to 
laugh;  he  will  first  ask  whether  that  soul  of  man  has  come  out 
of  the  brighter  life,  and  is  unable  to  see  because  unaccustomed 
to  the  dark,  or  having  turned  from  darkness  to  the  day  is  dazzled 
by  excess  of  light.  And  he  will  count  the  one  happy  in  his  condi- 
tion and  state  of  being,  and  he  will  pity  the  other;  or,  if  he  have 
a mind  to  laugh  at  the  soul  which  comes  from  below  into  the 
light,  there  will  be  more  reason  in  this  than  in  the  laugh  which 
greets  him  who  returns  out  of  the  light  into  the  den. 

That,  he  said,  is  a very  just  distinction. 

But  then,  if  I am  right,  certain  professors  of  education  must 
be  wrong  when  they  say  that  they  can  put  a knowledge  into  the 
soul  which  was  not  there  before,  like  sight  into  blind  eyes. 

They  imdoubtedly  say  this,  he  replied. 

Whereas,  our  argument  shows  that  the  power  and  capacity  of 
learning  exists  in  the  soul  already;  and  that  just  as  the  eye  was 
unable  to  turn  from  darkness  to  light  without  the  whole  body, 
so  too  the  instrument  of  knowledge  can  only  by  the  movement 
of  the  whole  soul  be  turned  round  from  the  world  of  becoming 
into  that  of  being,  and  learn  by  degrees  to  endure  the  sight  of 
being,  and  of  the  brightest  and  best  of  being,  or  in  other  words, 
of  the  good. 

Very  true. 

And  must  there  not  be  some  art  which  will  effect  conversion  in 
the  easiest  and  quickest  manner;  not  implanting  the  faculty  of 
sight,  for  that  exists  already,  but  has  been  turned  in  the  wrong 
direction,  and  is  looking  away  from  the  truth  ? 


5° 


PLATO 


Yes,  he  said,  such  an  art  may  be  presumed. 

And  whereas  the  other  so-called  virtues  seem  to  be  akin  to  the 
bodily  qualities,  for  even  when  they  are  not  originally  innate  they 
can  be  implanted  later  by  habit  and  exercise,  the  virtue  of  wisdom 
more  than  anything  else  contains  a divine  element  which  always 
remains,  and  by  this  conversion  is  rendered  useful  and  profitable ; 
or,  on  the  other  hand,  hurtful  and  useless.  Did  you  never  observe 
the  narrow  intelligence  flashing  from  the  keen  eye  of  a clever 
rogue  — how  eager  he  is,  how  clearly  his  paltry  soul  sees  the  way 
to  his  end;  he  is  the  reverse  of  blind,  but  his  keen  eye-sight  is 
forced  into  the  service  of  evil,  and  he  is  mischievous  in  propor- 
tion to  his  cleverness  ? 

Very  true,  he  said. 

But  what  if  there  had  been  a circumcision  of  such  natures  in 
the  days  of  their  youth;  and  they  had  been  severed  from  those 
sensual  pleasures,  such  as  eating  and  drinking,  which  like  leaden 
weights  were  attached  to  them  at  their  birth,  and  which  drag 
them  down  and  turn  the  vision  of  their  souls  upon  the  things 
that  are  below  — if,  I say,  they  had  been  released  from  these 
impediments  and  turned  in  the  opposite  direction,  the  very  same 
faculty  in  them  would  have  seen  the  truth  as  keenly  as  they  see 
what  their  eyes  are  turned  to  now. 

Very  likely. 

Yes,  I said;  and  there  is  another  thing  which  is  likely,  or  rather 
a necessary  inference  from  what  has  preceded,  that  neither  the 
uneducated  and  uninformed  of  the  truth,  nor  yet  those  who  never 
make  an  end  of  their  education  will  be  able  ministers  of  State ; 
not  the  former,  because  they  have  no  single  aim  of  duty  which  is 
the  rule  of  all  their  actions,  private  as  well  as  public;  nor  the 
latter,  because  they  will  not  act  at  all  except  upon  compulsion, 
fancying  that  they  are  alreadv  awelling  apart  in  the  islands  of 
the  blest. 

Very  true,  ne  replied. 

Then,  I said,  the  business  of  us  who  are  the  founders  of  the 
State  will  be  to  compel  the  best  minds  to  attain  that  knowledge 
which  has  been  already  declared  by  us  to  be  the  greatest  of  all 
— they  must  continue  to  ascend  until  they  arrive  at  the  good ; 


THE  REPUBLIC 


51 

but  when  they  have  ascended  and  seen  enough  we  must  not 
allow  them  to  do  as  they  do  now. 

What  do  you  mean? 

I mean  that  they  remain  in  the  upper  world : but  this  must  not 
be  allowed ; they  must  be  made  to  descend  again  among  the  pris- 
oners in  the  den,  and  partake  of  their  labours  and  honours, 
whether  they  are  worth  having  or  not. 

But  is  not  this  unjust?  he  said;  ought  we  to  give  them  an  in- 
ferior life,  when  they  might  have  a superior  one? 

You  have  again  forgotten,  my  friend,  I said,  the  intention  of 
the  legislator,  who  did  not  aim  at  making  any  one  class  in  the 
State  happy  above  the  rest;  the  happiness  was  to  be  in  the  whole 
State,  and  he  held  the  citizens  together  by  persuasion  and  neces- 
sity, making  them  benefactors  of  the  State,  and  therefore  bene- 
factors of  one  another ; to  this  end  he  created  them,  not  that  they 
should  please  themselves,  but  they  were  to  be  his  instruments 
in  binding  up  the  State. 

True,  he  said,  I had  forgotten. 

Observe,  Glaucon,  that  there  will  be  no  injustice  in  compel- 
ling our  philosophers  to  have  a care  and  providence  of  others;  we 
shall  explain  to  them  that  in  other  States,  men  of  their  class  are 
not  obliged  to  share  in  the  toils  of  politics : and  this  is  reasonable, 
for  they  grow  up  at  their  own  sweet  will,  and  the  government 
would  rather  not  have  them.  Being  self-taught,  they  cannot  be 
expected  to  show  any  gratitude  for  a culture  which  they  never 
received.  But  we  have  brought  you  into  the  world  to  be  rulers  of 
the  hive,  kings  of  yourselves  and  of  the  other  citizens,  and  have 
educated  you  far  better  and  more  perfectly  than  they  have  been 
educated,  and  you  are  better  able  to  share  in  the  double  duty. 
Wherefore  each  of  you,  when  his  turn  comes,  must  go  down  to 
the  general  underground  abode,  and  get  the  habit  of  seeing  in 
the  dark ; when  you  have  acquired  the  habit  you  will  see  ten  thou- 
sand times  better  than  the  inhabitants  of  the  den,  and  you  will 
know  what  the  several  images  are,  and  what  they  represent,  be- 
cause you  have  seen  the  beautiful  and  just  and  good  in  their 
truth.  And  thus  our  State,  which  is  also  yours,  will  be  a reality, 
and  not  a dream  only,  and  will  be  administered  in  a spirit  unlike 


52 


PLATO 


that  of  other  States  in  which  men  fight  with  one  another  about 
shadows  only  and  are  distracted  in  the  struggle  for  power,  which 
in  their  eyes  is  a great  good.  Whereas  the  truth  is  that  the  State 
in  which  the  rulers  are  most  reluctant  to  govern  is  best  and  most 
quietly  governed,  and  the  State  in  which  they  are  most  eager, 
the  worst. 

Quite  true,  he  replied. 

And  will  our  pupils,  when  they  hear  this,  refuse  to  take  their 
turn  at  the  toils  of  State,  when  they  are  allowed  to  spend  the 
greater  part  of  their  time  with  one  another  in  the  heavenly  light? 

Impossible,  he  answered;  for  they  are  just  men,  and  the  com- 
mands which  we  impose  upon  them  are  just;  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  everyone  of  them  will  take  office  as  a stem  necessity, 
and  not  after  the  fashion  of  our  present  rulers  of  State. 

Yes,  my  friend,  I said;  and  there  lies  the  point.  You  must 
contrive  for  your  future  rulers  another  and  a better  life  than  that 
of  a ruler,  and  then  you  may  have  a well-ordered  State;  for  only 
in  the  State  which  offers  this,  will  they  rule  who  are  truly  rich, 
not  in  silver  and  gold,  but  in  virtue  and  wisdom,  which  are  the 
true  blessings  of  life.  Whereas  if  they  go  to  the  administration  of 
public  affairs,  poor  and  hungering  after  their  own  private  advan- 
tage, thinking  that  hence  they  are  to  snatch  the  good  of  life, 
order  there  can  never  be;  for  they  will  be  fighting  about  office, 
and  the  civil  and  domestic  broils  which  thus  arise  will  be  the  ruin 
of  the  rulers  themselves  and  of  the  whole  State. 

Most  true,  he  replied. 

And  the  only  life  which  looks  down  upon  the  life  of  political 
ambition  is  that  of  true  philosophy  ? Do  you  know  of  any  other  ? 

Indeed,  I do  not,  he  said. 


ARISTOTLE 

(384-324) 

THE  NICOMACHEAN  ETHICS 


Translated  from  the  Greek  * by 
F.  H.  PETERS 

BOOK  I.  THE  GOOD  OR  THE  END 

I.  Every  art  and  every  kind  of  inquiry,  and  likewise  every  act 
and  purpose,  seems  to  aim  at  some  good : and  so  it  has  been  well 
said  that  the  good  is  that  at  which  everything  aims. 

But  a difference  is  observable  among  these  aims  or  ends.  What 
is  aimed  at  is  sometimes  the  exercise  of  a faculty,  sometimes  a 
certain  result  beyond  that  exercise.  And  where  there  is  an  end 
beyond  the  act,  there  the  result  is  better  than  the  exercise  of  the 
faculty. 

Now  since  there  are  many  kinds  of  actions  and  many  arts  and 
sciences,  it  follows  that  there  are  many  ends  also;  e.  g.  health 
is  the  end  of  medicine,  ships  of  shipbuilding,  victory  of  the  art 
of  war,  and  wealth  of  economy. 

But  when  several  of  these  are  subordinated  to  some  one  art 
or  science,  — as  the  making  of  bridles  and  other  trappings  to 
the  art  of  horsemanship,  and  this  in  turn,  along  wdth  all  else  that 
the  soldier  does,  to  the  art  of  war,  and  so  on,  — then  the  end  of  the 
master-art  is  always  more  desired  than  the  ends  of  the  subordi- 
nate arts,  since  these  are  pursued  for  its  sake.  And  this  is  equally 
true  whether  the  end  in  view  be  the  mere  exercise  of  a faculty  or 
something  beyond  that,  as  in  the  above  instances. 

2.  If  then  in  what  we  do  there  be  some  end  which  we  wish  for 
on  its  own  account,  choosing  all  the  others  as  means  to  this,  but 
not  every  end  without  exception  as  a means  to  something  else 
(for  so  we  should  go  on  ad  infinitum,  and  desire  would  be  left  void 

* From  ^ApKTTOTeKovs  riOiKuv  fii$\laSfKa.  Reprinted  from  The  N^ico- 

mackean  Ethics  of  Aristotle,  translated  by  F.  H.  Peters,  London,  Kegan  Paul, 
Trench,  Triibner  & Co.,  Ltd.,  1881 ; 9th  ed.,  1904. 


54 


ARISTOTLE 


and  objectless),  — this  evidently  will  be  the  good  or  the  best  of 
all  things.  And  surely  from  a practical  point  of  view  it  much  con- 
cerns us  to  know  this  good ; for  then,  like  archers  shooting  at  a 
definite  mark,  we  shall  be  more  likely  to  attain  what  we  want. 

If  this  be  so,  we  must  try  to  indicate  roughly  what  it  is,  and  first 
of  all  to  which  of  the  arts  or  sciences  it  belongs. 

It  would  seem  to  belong  to  the  supreme  art  or  science,  that  one 
which  most  of  all  deserves  the  name  of  master-art  or  master- 
science. 

Now  Politics  * seems  to  answer  to  this  description.  For  it  pre- 
scribes which  of  the  sciences  a state  needs,  and  which  each  man 
shall  study,  and  up  to  what  point;  and  to  it  we  see  subordinated 
even  the  highest  arts,  such  as  economy,  rhetoric,  and  the  art  of 
war. 

Since  then  it  makes  use  of  the  other  practical  sciences,  and 
since  it  further  ordains  what  men  are  to  do  and  from  what  to  re- 
frain, its  end  must  include  the  ends  of  the  others,  and  must  be 
the  proper  good  of  man. 

For  though  this  good  is  the  same  for  the  individual  and  the 
state,  yet  the  good  of  the  state  seems  a grander  and  more  perfect 
thing  both  to  attain  and  to  secure;  and  glad  as  one  would  be  to 
do  this  service  for  a single  individual,  to  do  it  for  a people  and 
for  a number  of  states  is  nobler  and  more  divine. 

This  then  is  the  aim  of  the  present  inquiry,  which  is  a sort  of 
political  inquiry. 

4.  Since  — to  resume  — all  knowledge  and  all  purpose  aims 
at  some  good,  what  is  this  which  we  say  is  the  aim  of  Politics; 
or,  in  other  words,  what  is  the  highest  of  all  realizable  goods? 

As  to  its  name,  I suppose  nearly  all  men  are  agreed;  for  the 
masses  and  the  men  of  culture  alike  declare  that  it  is  happiness, 
and  hold  that  to  “live  well”  or  to  “do  well”  is  the  same  as  to  be 
“happy.” 

But  they  differ  as  to  what  this  happiness  is,  and  the  masses  do 
not  give  the  same  account  of  it  as  the  philosophers. 

The  former  take  it  to  be  something  palpable  and  plain,  as 

1 To  Aristotle  Politics  is  a much  wider  term  than  to  us  ; it  covers  the  whole 
field  of  human  life,  since  man  is  essentially  social. 


THE  NICOMACHEAN  ETHICS 


55 


pleasure  or  wealth  or  fame;  one  man  holds  it  to  be  this,  and 
another  that,  and  often  the  same  man  is  of  different  minds  at 
different  times,  — after  sickness  it  is  health,  and  in  poverty  it  is 
wealth;  while  when  they  are  impressed  with  the  consciousness 
of  their  ignorance,  they  admire  most  those  who  say  grand  things 
that  are  above  their  comprehension. 

Some  philosophers,  on  the  other  hand,  have  thought  that,  be- 
side these  several  good  things,  there  is  an  “absolute”  good  which 
is  the  cause  of  their  goodness. 

As  it  would  hardly  be  worth  while  to  review  all  the  opinions 
that  have  been  held,  we  will  confine  ourselves  to  those  which  are 
most  popular,  or  which  seem  to  have  some  foundation  in  reason. 

But  we  must  not  omit  to  notice  the  distinction  that  is  drawn 
between  the  method  of  proceeding  from  your  starting-points  or 
principles,  and  the  method  of  working  up  to  them.  Plato  used 
with  fitness  to  raise  this  question,  and  to  ask  whether  the  right 
way  is  from  or  to  your  starting-points,  as  in  the  race-course  you 
may  run  from  the  judges  to  the  boundary,  or  vice  versa. 

Well,  we  must  start  from  what  is  known. 

But  “what  is  known”  may  mean  two  things:  “what  is  known 
to  us,”  which  is  one  thing,  or  “what  is  known”  simply,  which 
is  another. 

I think  it  is  safe  to  say  that  we  must  start  from  what  is  known 
to  us. 

And  on  this  account  nothing  but  a good  moral  training  can 
qualify  a man  to  study  what  is  noble  and  just  — in  a word,  to 
study  questions  of  Politics.  For  the  undemonstrated  fact  is  here 
the  starting-point,  and  if  this  undemonstrated  fact  be  sufficiently 
evident  to  a man,  he  will  not  require  a “reason  why.”  Now  the 
man  who  has  had  a good  moral  training  either  has  already 
arrived  at  starting-points  or  principles  of  action,  or  will  easily 
accept  them  when  pointed  out.  But  he  who  neither  has  them 
nor  will  accept  them  may  hear  what  Hesiod'  says:  — 

The  best  is  he  who  of  himself  doth  know; 

Good  too  is  he  who  listens  to  the  wise; 

But  he  who  neither  knows  himself  nor  heeds 

The  words  of  others,  is  a useless  man. 

^ Works  and  Days,  291-295. 


56  ARISTOTLE 

5.  Let  us  now  take  up  the  discussion  at  the  point  from  which 
we  digressed. 

It  seems  that  men  not  unreasonably  take  their  notions  of  the 
good  or  happiness  from  the  lives  actually  led,  and  that  the  masses 
who  are  the  least  refined  suppose  it  to  be  pleasure,  which  is  the 
reason  why  they  aim  at  nothing  higher  than  the  life  of  enjoy- 
ment. 

For  the  most  conspicuous  kinds  of  life  are  three:  this  life  of 
enjoyment,  the  life  of  the  statesman,  and,  thirdly,  the  contem- 
plative life. 

The  mass  of  men  show  themselves  utterly  slavish  in  their 
preference  for  the  life  of  brute  beasts,  but  their  views  receive  con- 
sideration because  many  of  those  in  high  places  have  the  tastes 
of  Sardanapalus. 

Men  of  refinement  with  a practical  turn  prefer  honour;  for 
I suppose  we  may  say  that  honour  is  the  aim  of  the  statesman’s 
life. 

But  this  seems  too  superficial  to  be  the  good  we  are  seeking: 
for  it  appears  to  depend  upon  those  who  give  rather  than  upon 
those  who  receive  it;  while  we  have  a presentiment  that  the  good 
is  something  that  is  peculiarly  a man’s  own  and  can  scarce  be 
taken  away  from  him. 

Moreover,  these  men  seem  to  pursue  honour  in  order  that  they 
may  be  assured  of  their  own  excellence,  — at  least,  they  wish 
to  be  honoured  by  men  of  sense,  and  by  those  who  know  them, 
and  on  the  ground  of  their  virtue  or  excellence.  It  is  plain,  then, 
that  in  their  view,  at  any  rate,  virtue  or  excellence  is  better  than 
honour;  and  perhaps  we  should  take  this  to  be  the  end  of  the 
statesman’s  life,  rather  than  honour. 

But  virtue  or  excellence  also  appears  too  incomplete  to  be 
what  we  want ; for  it  seems  that  a man  might  have  virtue  and  yet 
be  asleep  or  be  inactive  all  his  life,  and,  moreover,  might  meet 
with  the  greatest  disasters  and  misfortunes;  and  no  one  would 
maintain  that  such  a man  is  happy,  except  for  argument’s  sake. 
But  we  will  not  dwell  on  these  matters  now,  for  they  are  suffi- 
ciently discussed  in  the  popular  treatises. 


THE  NICOMACHEAN  ETHICS 


57 

The  third  kind  of  life  is  the  life  of  contemplation : we  whll  treat 
of  it  further  on/ 

As  for  the  money-making  life,  it  is  something  quite  contrary 
to  nature;  and  wealth  evidently  is  not  the  good  of  which  we  are 
in  search,  for  it  is  merely  useful  as  a means  to  something  else. 
So  we  might  rather  take  pleasure  and  virtue  or  excellence  to  be 
ends  than  wealth;  for  they  are  chosen  on  their  own  account. 
But  it  seems  that  not  ev.en  they  are  the  end,  though  much  breath 
has  been  wasted  in  attempts  to  show  that  they  are. 

6.  Dismissing  these  views,  then,  we  have  now  to  consider  the 
“universal  good,”  and  to  state  the  difficulties  which  it  presents; 
though  such  an  inquiry  is  not  a pleasant  task  in  view  of  our  friend- 
ship for  the  authors  of  the  doctrine  of  ideas.  But  we  venture  to 
think  that  this  is  the  right  course,  and  that  in  the  interests  of  truth 
we  ought  to  sacrifice  even  what  is  nearest  to  us,  especially  as 
we  call  ourselves  philosophers.  Both  are  dear  to  us,  but  it  is  a 
sacred  duty  to  give  the  preference  to  truth. 

In  the  first  place,  the  authors  of  this  theory  themselves  did  not 
assert  a common  idea  in  the  case  of  things  of  which  one  is  prior 
to  the  other ; and  for  this  reason  they  did  not  hold  one  common 
idea  of  numbers.  Now  the  predicate  good  is  applied  to  substances 
and  also  to  qualities  and  relations.  But  that  which  has  inde- 
pendent existence,  what  we  call  “substance,”  is  logically  prior 
to  that  which  is  relative;  for  the  latter  is  an  offshoot  as  it  were, 
or  [in  logical  language]  an  accident  of  a thing  or  substance.  So 
[by  their  own  showing]  there  cannot  be  one  common  idea  of 
these  goods. 

Secondly,  the  term  good  is  used  in  as  many  different  ways  as 
the  term  “is”  or  “being:”  we  apply  the  term  to  substances  or 
independent  existences,  as  God,  reason;  to  qualities,  as  the  vir- 
tues; to  quantity,  as  the  moderate  or  due  amount;  to  relatives, 
as  the  useful;  to  time,  as  opportunity;  to  place,  as  habitation, 
and  so  on.  It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  the  word  good  cannot 
stand  for  one  and  the  sanve  notion  in  all  these  various  applica- 
tions ; for  if  it  did,  the  term  could  not  be  applied  in  all  the  cate- 
gories, but  in  one  only. 

* Cf.  VI.  7,  12  and  X.  7,  8. 


ARISTOTLE 


58 

Thirdly,  if  the  notion  were  one,  since  there  is  but  one  science 
of  all  the  things  that  come  under  one  idea,  there  would  be  but 
one  science  of  all  goods;  but  as  it  is,  there  are  many  sciences  even 
of  the  goods  that  come  under  one  category;  as,  for  instance,  the 
science  which  deals  with  opportunity  in  war  is  strategy,  but  in 
disease  is  medicine;  and  the  science  of  the  due  amount  in  the 
matter  of  food  is  medicine,  but  in  the  matter  of  exercise  is  the 
science  of  gymnastic. 

Fourthly,  one  might  ask  what  they  mean  by  the  “absolute;  ” 
in  “absolute  man”  and  “man”  the  word  “man”  has  one  and 
the  same  sense;  for  in  respect  of  manhood  there  will  be  no  dif- 
ference between  them;  and  if  so,  neither  will  there  be  any  differ- 
ence in  respect  of  goodness  between  “absolute  good”  and 
“good.” 

Fifthly,  they  do  not  make  the  good  any  more  good  by  making 
it  eternal;  a white  thing  that  lasts  a long  while  is  no  whiter  than 
v/hat  lasts  but  a day. 

There  seems  to  be  more  plausibility  in  the  doctrine  of  the 
Pythagoreans,  who  [in  their  table  of  opposites]  place  the  one  on 
the  same  side  with  the  good  things  [instead  of  reducing  all  goods 
to  unity];  and  even  Speusippus  ‘ seems  to  follow  them  in  this. 

However,  these  points  may  be  reserved  for  another  occasion; 
but  objection  may  be  taken  to  what  I have  said  on  the  ground 
that  the  Platonists  do  not  speak  in  this  way  of  all  goods  indis- 
criminately, but  hold  that  those  that  are  pursued  and  welcomed 
on  their  own  account  are  called  good  by  reference  to  one  com- 
mon form  or  type,  while  those  things  that  tend  to  produce  or 
preserve  these  goods,  or  to  prevent  their  opposites,  are  called 
good  only  as  means  to  thes6,  and  in  a different  sense. 

It  is  evident  that  there  will  thus  be  two  classes  of  goods : one 
good  in  themselves,  the  other  good  as  means  to  the  former. 
Let  us  separate  then  from  the  things  that  are  merely  useful 
those  that  are  good  in  themselves,  and  inquire  if  they  are  called 
good  by  reference  to  one  common  idea  or  type. 

Now  what  kind  of  things  would  one  call  “ good  in  themselves  ” ? 

Surely  those  things  that  we  pursue  even  apart  from  their  con- 

' Plato’s  nephew  and  successor. 


THE  NICOMACHEAN  ETHICS 


59 


sequences,  such  as  wisdom  and  sight  and  certain  pleasures  and 
certain  honours;  for  although  we  sometimes  pursue  these  things 
as  means,  no  one  could  refuse  to  rank  them  among  the  things 
that  are  good  in  themselves. 

If  these  be  excluded,  nothing  is  good  in  itself  except  the  idea; 
and  then  the  type  or  form  will  be  meaningless. 

If  however,  these  are  ranked  among  the  things  that  are  good 
in  themselves,  then  it  must  be  shown  that  the  goodness  of  all  of 
them  can  be  defined  in  the  same  terms,  as  white  has  the  same 
meaning  when  applied  to  snow  and  to  white  lead. 

But,  in  fact,  we  have  to  give  a separate  and  different  account 
of  the  goodness  of  honour  and  wisdom  and  pleasure. 

Good,  then,  is  not  a term  that  is  applied  to  all  these  things 
alike  in  the  same  sense  or  with  reference  to  one  common  idea  or 
form. 

But  how  then  do  these  things  come  to  be  called  good  ? for  they 
do  not  appear  to  have  received  the  same  name  by  chance  merely. 
Perhaps  it  is  because  they  all  proceed  from  one  source,  or  all 
conduce  to  one  end;  or  perhaps  it  is  rather  in  virtue  of  some 
analogy,  just  as  we  call  the  reason  the  eye  of  the  soul  because  it 
bears  the  same  relation  to  the  soul  that  the  eye  does  to  the  body, 
and  so  on. 

But  we  may  dismiss  these  questions  at  present;  for  to  discuss 
them  in  detail  belongs  more  properly  to  another  branch  of  phi- 
losophy. 

And  for  the  same  reason  we  may  dismiss  the  further  considera- 
tion of  the  idea;  for  even  granting  that  this  term  good,  which  is 
applied  to  all  these  different  things,  has  one  and  the  same  mean- 
ing throughout,  or  that  there  is  an  absolute  good  apart  from  these 
particulars,  it  is  evident  that  this  good  will  not  be  anything  that 
man  can  realize  or  attain;  but  it  is  a good  of  this  kind  that  we 
are  now  seeking. 

It  might,  perhaps,  be  thought  that  it  would  nevertheless  be 
well  to  make  ourselves  acquainted  with  this  universal  good,  with 
a view  to  the  goods  that  are  attainable  and  realizable.  With  this 
for  a pattern,  it  may  be  said,  we  shall  more  readily  discern  our 
own  good,  and  discerning  achieve  it. 


6o 


ARISTOTLE 


There  certainly  is  some  plausibility  in  this  argument,  but  it 
seems  to  be  at  variance  with  the  existing  sciences;  for  though 
they  are  all  aiming  at  some  good  and  striving  to  make  up  their 
deficiencies,  they  neglect  to  inquire  about  this  universal  good. 
And  yet  it  is  scarce  likely  that  the  professors  of  the  several  arts 
and  sciences  should  not  know,  nor  even  look  for,  what  would  help 
them  so  much. 

And  indeed  I am  at  a loss  to  know  how  the  weaver  or  the  car- 
penter would  be  furthered  in  his  art  by  a knowledge  of  this  ab- 
solute good,  or  how  a man  would  be  rendered  more  able  to  heal 
the  sick  or  to  command  an  army  by  contemplation  of  the  pure 
form  or  idea.  For  it  seems  to  me  that  the  physician  does  not  even 
seek  for  health  in  this  abstract  way,  but  seeks  for  the  health  of 
man,  or  rather  of  some  particular  man,  for  it  is  individuals  that 
he  has  to  heal. 

7.  Leaving  these  matters,  then,  let  us  return  once  more  to  the 
question,  what  this  good  can  be  of  which  we  are  in  search. 

It  seems  to  be  different  in  different  kinds  of  action  and  in  dif- 
ferent arts,  — one  thing  in  medicine  and  another  in  war,  and  so 
on.  What  then  is  the  good  in  each  of  these  cases?  Surely  that 
for  the  sake  of  which  all  else  is  done.  And  that  in  medicine  is 
health,  in  war  is  victory,  in  building  is  a house,  — a different 
thing  in  each  different  case,  but  always,  in  whatever  we  do  and 
in  whatever  we  choose,  the  end.  For  it  is  always  for  the  sake  of 
the  end  that  all  else  is  done. 

If  then  there  be  one  end  of  all  that  man  does,  this  end  will  be 
the  realizable  good,  — or  these  ends,  if  there  be  more  than  one. 

By  this  generalization  our  argument  is  brought  to  the  same  point 
as  before.  ‘ This  point  we  must  try  to  explain  more  clearly. 

We  see  that  there  are  many  ends.  But  some  of  these  are  chosen 
only  as  means,  as  wealth,  flutes,  and  the  whole  class  of  instru- 
ments. And  so  it  is  plain  that  not  all  ends  are  final. 

But  the  best  of  all  things  must,  we  conceive,  be  something  final. 

If  then  there  be  only  one  final  end,  this  will  be  what  we  are 
seeking,  — or  if  there  be  more  than  one,  then  the  most  final  of 
them. 

‘ See  J.  A.  Stewart’s  Notes  on  the  Nicomachean  Ethics,  Oxford,  1892. 


THE  NICOMACHEAN  ETHICS 


6i 


Now  that  which  is  pursued  as  an  end  in  itself  is  more  final  than 
that  which  is  pursued  as  means  to  something  else,  and  that  which 
is  never  chosen  as  means  than  that  which  is  chosen  both  as  an 
end  in  itself  and  as  means,  and  that  is  strictly  final  which  is 
always  chosen  as  an  end  in  itself  and  never  as  means. 

Happiness  seems  more  than  anything  else  to  answer  to  this 
description ; for  we  always  choose  it  for  itself,  and  never  for  the 
sake  of  something  else;  while  honour  and  pleasure  and  reason, 
and  all  virtue  or  excellence,  we  choose  partly  indeed  for  them- 
selves (for,  apart  from  any  result,  we  should  choose  each  of  them), 
but  partly  also  for  the  sake  of  happiness,  supposing  that  they  will 
help  to  make  us  happy.  But  no  one  chooses  happiness  for  the 
sake  of  these  things,  or  as  a means  to  anything  else  at  all. 

We  seem  to  be  led  to  the  same  conclusion  when  we  start  from 
the  notion  of  self-sufficiency. 

The  final  good  is  thought  to  be  self-sufficing  [or  all-sufficing]. 
In  applying  this  term  we  do  not  regard  a man  as  an  individual 
leading  a solitary  life,  but  we  also  take  account  of  parents,  chil- 
dren, wife,  and,  in  short,  friends  and  fellow-citizens  generally, 
since  man  is  naturally  a social  being.  Some  limit  must  indeed 
be  set  to  this;  for  if  you  go  on  to  parents  and  descendants  and 
friends  of  friends,  you  will  never  come  to  a stop.  But  this  we  will 
consider  further  on : for  the  present  we  will  take  self-sufficing  to 
mean  what  by  itself  makes  life  desirable  and  in  want  of  nothing. 
And  happiness  is  believed  to  answer  to  this  description. 

And  further,  happiness  is  believed  to  be  the  most  desirable 
thing  in  the  world,  and  that  not  merely  as  one  among  other  good 
things : if  it  were  merely  one  among  other  good  things  [so  that 
other  things  could  be  added  to  it],  it  is  plain  that  the  addition  of 
the  least  of  other  goods  must  make  it  more  desirable;  for  the 
addition  becomes  a surplus  of  good,  and  of  two  goods  the  greater 
is  always  more  desirable. 

Thus  it  seems  that  happiness  is  something  final  and  self-suf- 
ficing, and  is  the  end  of  all  that  man  does. 

But  perhaps  the  reader  thinks  that  though  no  one  will  dispute 
the  statement  that  happiness  is  the  best  thing  in  the  world,  yet  a 
still  more  precise  definition  of  it  is  needed. 


62 


ARISTOTLE 


This  will  best  be  gained,  I think,  by  asking.  What  is  the  func- 
tion of  man?  For  as  the  goodness  and  the  excellence  of  a piper 
or  a sculptor,  or  the  practiser  of  any  art,  and  generally  of  those 
who  have  any  function  or  business  to  do,  lies  in  that  function, 
so  man’s  good  would  seem  to  lie  in  his  function,  if  he  has  one. 

But  can  we  suppose  that,  while  a carpenter  or  a cobbler  has 
a function  and  a business  of  his  own,  man  has  no  business  and 
no  function  assigned  him  by  nature?  Nay,  surely  as  his  several 
members,  eye  and  hand  and  foot,  plainly  have  each  his  own 
function,  so  we  must  suppose  that  man  also  has  some  function 
over  and  above  all  these. 

What  then  is  it? 

Life  evidently  he  has  in  common  even  with  the  plants,  but  we 
want  that  which  is  peculiar  to  him.  We  must  exclude,  therefore, 
the  life  of  mere  nutrition  and  growth. 

Next  to  this  comes  the  life  of  sense;  but  this  too  he  plainly 
shares  with  horses  and  cattle  and  all  kinds  of  animals. 

There  remains  then  the  life  whereby  he  acts  — the  life  of  his 
rational  nature,  with  its  two  sides  or  divisions,  one  rational  as 
obeying  reason,  the  other  rational  as  having  and  exercising  reason. 

But  as  this  expression  is  ambiguous,  we  must  be  understood 
to  mean  thereby  the  life  that  consists  in  the  exercise  of  the  fac- 
ulties; for  this  seems  to  be  more  properly  entitled  to  the  name. 

The  function  of  man,  then,  is  exercise  of  his  vital  faculties  [or 
soul]  on  one  side  in  obedience  to  reason,  and  on  the  other  side 
with  reason. 

But  what  is  called  the  function  of  a man  of  any  profession  and 
the  function  of  a man  who  is  good  in  that  profession  are  generi- 
cally  the  same,  e.  g.  of  a harper  and  of  a good  harper;  and  this 
holds  in  all  cases  without  exception,  only  that  in  the  case  of  the 
latter  his  superior  excellence  at  his  work  is  added;  for  we  say  a 
harper’s  function  is  to  harp,  and  a good  harper’s  to  harp  well. 

(Man’s  function  then  being,  as  we  say,  a kind  of  life  — that 
is  to  say,  exercise  of  his  faculties  and  action  of  various  kinds  with 
reason  — the  good  man’s  function  is  to  do  this  well  and  beauti- 
fully [or  nobly].  But  the  function  of  anything  is  done  well  when 
it  is  done  in  accordance  with  the  proper  excellence  of  that  thing.) 


THE  NICOMACHEAN  ETHICS 


63 

If  this  be  so  the  result  is  that  the  good  of  man  is  exercise  of  his 
faculties  in  accordance  with  excellence  or  virtue,  or,  if  there  be 
more  than  one,  in  accordance  with  the  best  and  most  complete 
virtue. 

But  there  must  also  be  a full  term  of  years  for  this  exercise; 
for  one  swallow  or  one  fine  day  does  not  make  a spring,  nor  does 
one  day  or  any  small  space  of  time  make  a blessed  or  happy  man. 

13.  Since  happiness  is  an  exercise  of  the  vital  faculties  in  ac- 
cordance with  perfect  virtue  or  excellence,  we  will  now  inquire 
about  virtue  or  excellence;  for  this  will  probably  help  us  in  our 
inquiry  about  happiness. 

And  indeed  the  true  statesman  seems  to  be  especially  concerned 
with  virtue,  for  he  wishes  to  make  the  citizens  good  and  obedient 
to  the  laws.  Of  this  we  have  an  example  in  the  Cretan  and  the 
Lacedaemonian  lawgivers,  and  any  others  who  have  resembled 
them.  But  if  the  inquiry  belongs  to  Politics  or  the  science  of  the 
state,  it  is  plain  that  it  will  be  in  accordance  with  our  original 
purpose  to  pursue  it. 

The  virtue  or  excellence  that  we  are  to  consider  is,  of  course, 
the  excellence  of  man ; for  it  is  the  good  of  man  and  the  happiness 
of  man  that  we  started  to  seek.  And  by  the  excellence  of  man  I 
mean  excellence  not  of  body,  but  of  soul;  for  happiness  we  take 
to  be  an  activity  of  the  soul. 

If  this  be  so,  then  it  is  evident  that  the  statesman  must  have 
some  knowledge  of  the  soul,  just  as  the  man  who  is  to  heal  the 
eye  or  the  whole  body  must  have  some  knowledge  of  them,  and 
that  the  more  in  proportion  as  the  science  of  the  state  is  higher 
and  better  than  medicine.  But  all  educated  physicians  take 
much  pains  to  know  about  the  body. 

As  statesmen  [or  students  of  Politics],  then,  we  must  inquire 
into  the  nature  of  the  soul,  but  in  so  doing  we  must  keep  our 
special  purpose  in  view  and  go  only  so  far  as  that  requires;  for 
to  go  into  minuter  detail  would  be  too  laborious  for  the  present 
undertaking. 

Now,  there  are  certain  doctrines  about  the  soul  which  are 
stated  elsewhere  with  sufficient  precision,  and  these  we  will 
adopt. 


6+  ARISTOTLE 

Two  parts  of  the  soul  are  distinguished,  an  irrational  and  a 
rational  part. 

Whether  these  are  separated  as  are  the  parts  of  the  body  or 
any  divisible  thing,  or  whether  they  are  only  distinguishable  in 
thought  but  in  fact  inseparable,  like  concave  and  convex  in  the 
circumference  of  a circle,  makes  no  difference  for  our  present 
purpose. 

Of  the  irrational  part,  again,  one  division  seems  to  be  com- 
mon to  aU  things  that  live,  and  to  be  possessed  by  plants  — I 
mean  that  which  causes  nutrition  and  growth;  for  we  must  as- 
sume that  all  things  that  take  nourishment  have  a faculty  of  this 
kind,  even  when  they  are  embryos,  and  have  the  same  faculty 
when  they  are  full  grown;  at  least,  this  is  more  reasonable  than 
to  suppose  that  they  then  have  a different  one. 

The  excellence  of  this  faculty,  then,  is  plainly  one  that  man 
shares  with  other  beings,  and  not  specifically  human. 

And  this  is  confirmed  by  the  fact  that  in  sleep  this  part  of  the 
soul,  or  this  faculty,  is  thought  to  be  most  active,  while  the  good 
and  the  bad  man  are  undistinguishable  when  they  are  asleep 
(whence  the  saying  that  for  half  their  lives  there  is  no  difference 
between  the  happy  and  the  miserable;  which  indeed  is  what  we 
should  expect;  for  sleep  is  the  cessation  of  the  soul  from  those 
functions  in  respect  of  which  it  is  called  good  or  bad),  except  that 
they  are  to  some  slight  extent  roused  by  what  goes  on  in  their 
bodies,  with  the  result  that  the  dreams  of  the  good  man  are  bet- 
ter than  those  of  ordinary  people. 

However,  we  need  not  pursue  this  further,  and  may  dismiss 
the  nutritive  principle,  since  it  has  no  place  in  the  excellence  of 
man. 

But  there  seems  to  be  another  vital  principle  that  is  irrational, 
and  yet  in  some  way  partakes  of  reason.  In  the  case  of  the 
continent  and  of  the  incontinent  man  alike  we  praise  the  reason 
or  the  rational  part,  for  it  exhorts  them  rightly  and  urges  them 
to  do  what  is  best;  but  there  is  plainly  present  in  them  another 
principle  besides  the  rational  one,  which  fights  and  struggles 
against  the  reason.  For  just  as  a paralyzed  limb,  when  you  will 
to  move  it  to  the  right,  moves  on  the  contrary  to  the  left,  so  is  it 


THE  NICOMACHEAN  ETHICS 


65 

with  the  soul ; the  incontinent  man’s  impulses  run  counter  to  his 
reason.  Only  whereas  we  see  the  refractory  member  in  the  case 
of  the  body,  we  do  not  see  it  in  the  case  of  the  soul.  But  we  must 
nevertheless,  I think,  hold  that  in  the  soul  too  there  is  something 
beside  the  reason,  which  opposes  and  runs  counter  to  it  (though  in 
what  sense  it  is  distinct  from  the  reason  does  not  matter  here). 

It  seems,  however,  to  partake  of  reason  also,  as  we  said;  at 
least,  in  the  continent  man  it  submits  to  the  reason;  while  in  the 
temperate  and  courageous  man  we  may  say  it  is  still  more  obedi- 
ent; for  in  him  it  is  altogether  in  harmony  with  the  reason. 

The  irrational  part,  then,  it  appears,  is  twofold.  There  is  the 
vegetative  faculty,  which  has  no  share  of  reason ; and  the  faculty 
of  appetite  or  of  desire  in  general,  which  in  a manner  partakes 
of  reason  or  is  rational  as  listening  to  reason  and  submitting  to 
its  sway,  — rational  in  the  sense  in  which  we  speak  of  rational 
obedience  to  father  or  friends,  not  in  the  sense  in  which  we  speak 
of  rational  apprehension  of  mathematical  truths.  But  all  advice 
and  all  rebuke  and  exhortation  testify  that  the  irrational  part  is 
in  some  way  amenable  to  reason. 

If  then  we  like  to  say  that  this  part,  too,  has  a share  of  reason, 
the  rational  part  also  will  have  two  divisions : one  rational  in  the 
strict  sense  as  possessing  reason  in  itself,  the  other  rational  as 
listening  to  reason  as  a man  listens  to  his  father. 

Now,  on  this  division  of  the  faculties  is  based  the  division  of 
excellence;  for  we  speak  of  intellectual  excellences  and  of  moral 
excellences;  wisdom  and  understanding  and  prudence  we  call 
intellectual,  liberality  and  temperance  we  call  moral  virtues  or 
excellences.  When  we  are  speaking  of  a man’s  moral  character 
we  do  not  say  that  he  is  wise  or  intelligent,  but  that  he  is  gentle 
or  temperate.  But  we  praise  the  wise  man,  too,  for  his  habit  of 
mind  or  trained  faculty;  and  a habit  or  trained  faculty  that  is 
praiseworthy  is  what  we  call  an  excellence  or  virtue. 

BOOK  IL  MORAL  VIRTUE 

I.  Excellence,  then,  being  of  these  two  kinds,  intellectual  and 
moral,  intellectual  excellence  owes  its  birth  and  growth  mainly 


66 


ARISTOTLE 


to  instruction,  and  so  requires  time  and  experience,  while  moral 
excellence  is  the  result  of  habit  or  custom  (e^os),  and  has  ac- 
cordingly in  our  language  received  a name  formed  by  a slight 
change  from 

From  this  it  is  plain  that  none  of  the  moral  excellences  or  vir- 
tues is  implanted  in  us  by  nature;  for  that  which  is  by  nature 
cannot  be  altered  by  training.  For  instance,  a stone  naturally 
tends  to  fall  downwards,  and  you  could  not  train  it  to  rise  up- 
wards, though  you  tried  to  do  so  by  throwing  it  up  ten  thousand 
times,  nor  could  you  train  fire  to  move  downwards,  nor  accus- 
tom anything  which  naturally  behaves  in  one  way  to  behave  in 
any  other  way. 

The  virtues,  then,  come  neither  by  nature  nor  against  nature, 
but  nature  gives  the  capacity  for  acquiring  them,  and  this  is 
developed  by  training. 

Again,  where  we  do  things  by  nature  we  get  the  power  first, 
and  put  this  power  forth  in  act  afterwards : as  we  plainly  see  in 
the  case  of  the  senses;  for  it  is  not  by  constantly  seeing  and  hear- 
ing that  we  acquire  those  faculties,  but,  on  the  contrary,  we  had 
the  power  first  and  then  used  it,  instead  of  acquiring  the  power 
by  the  use.  But  the  virtues  we  acquire  by  doing  the  acts,  as  is 
the  case  with  the  arts  too.  We  learn  an  art  by  doing  that  which 
we  wish  to  do  when  we  have  learned  it;  we  become  builders  by 
building,  and  harpers  by  harping.  And  so  by  doing  just  acts  we 
become  just,  and  by  doing  acts  of  temperance  and  courage  we 
become  temperate  and  courageous. 

This  is  attested,  too,  by  what  occurs  in  states;  for  the  legisla- 
tors make  their  citizens  good  by  training;  i.  e.  this  is  the  wish 
of  all  legislators,  and  those  who  do  not  succeed  in  this  miss  their 
aim,  and  it  is  this  that  distinguishes  a good  from  a bad  consti- 
tution. 

Again,  both  the  moral  virtues  and  the  corresponding  vices  re- 
sult from  and  are  formed  by  the  same  acts;  and  this  is  the  case 
with  the  arts  also.  It  is  by  harping  that  good  harpers  and  bad 

’ 600!,  custom;  7i6os,  character;  moral  excellence:  we  have  no 

similar  sequence,  but  the  Latin  mos,  mores,  from  which  “morality”  comes,  covers 
both  600!  and  ^0o! 


THE  NICOMACHEAN  ETHICS  67 

harpers  alike  are  produced:  and  so  with  builders  and  the  rest; 
by  building  well  they  will  become  good  builders,  and  bad  builders 
by  building  badly.  Indeed,  if  it  were  not  so,  they  would  not  want 
anybody  to  teach  them,  but  would  all  be  born  either  good  or  bad 
at  their  trades.  And  it  is  just  the  same  with  the  virtues  also.  It  is 
by  our  conduct  in  our  intercourse  with  other  men  that  we  become 
just  or  unjust,  and  by  acting  in  circumstances  of  danger,  and 
training  ourselves  to  feel  fear  or  confidence,  that  we  become 
courageous  or  cowardly.  So,  too,  with  our  animal  appetites  and 
the  passion  of  anger;  for  by  behaving  in  this  way  or  in  that  on 
the  occasions  with  which  these  passions  are  concerned,  some  be- 
come temperate  and  gentle,  and  others  profligate  and  ill-tem- 
pered. In  a word,  acts  of  any  kind  produce  habits  or  characters 
of  the  same  kind. 

Hence  we  ought  to  make  sure  that  our  acts  be  of  a certain  kind ; 
for  the  resulting  character  varies  as  they  vary.  It  makes  no  small 
difference,  therefore,  whether  a man  be  trained  from  his  youth 
up  in  this  way  or  in  that,  but  a great  difference,  or  rather  all  the 
difference. 

2.  But  our  present  inquiry  has  not,  like  the  rest,  a merely  spec- 
ulative aim;  we  are  not  inquiring  merely  in  order  to  know  what 
excellence  or  virtue  is,  but  in  order  to  become  good ; for  otherwise 
it  would  profit  us  nothing.  We  must  ask  therefore  about  these 
acts,  and  see  of  what  kind  they  are  to  be ; for,  as  we  said,  it  is  they 
that  determine  our  habits  or  character. 

First  of  all,  then,  that  they  must  be  in  accordance  with  right 
reason  is  a common  characteristic  of  them,  which  we  shall  here 
take  for  granted,  reserving  for  future  discussion  the  question 
what  this  right  reason  is,  and  how  it  is  related  to  the  other  ex- 
cellences. 

But  let  it  be  understood,  before  we  go  on,  that  all  reasoning  on 
matters  of  practice  must  be  in  outline  merely,  and  not  scientifi- 
cally exact : for,  as  we  said  at  starting,  the  kind  of  reasoning  to 
be  demanded  varies  with  the  subject  in  hand;  and  in  practical 
matters  and  questions  of  expediency  there  are  no  invariable 
laws,  any  more  than  in  questions  of  health. 

And  if  our  general  conclusions  are  thus  inexact,  still  more 


68 


ARISTOTLE 


inexact  is  all  reasoning  about  particular  cases;  for  these  fall  under 
no  system  of  scientifically  established  rules  or  traditional  max- 
ims, but  the  agent  must  always  consider  for  himself  what  the 
special  occasion  requires,  just  as  in  medicine  or  navigation. 

But  though  this  is  the  case  we  must  try  to  render  what  help 
we  can. 

First  of  all,  then,  we  must  observe  that,  in  matters  of  this  sort, 
to  fall  short  and  to  exceed  are  alike  fatal.  This  is  plain  (to  illus- 
trate what  we  cannot  see  by  what  we  can  see)  in  the  case  of 
strength  and  health.  Too  much  and  too  little  exercise  alike  de- 
stroy strength,  and  to  take  too  much  meat  and  drink,  or  to  take 
too  little,  is  equally  ruinous  to  health,  but  the  fitting  amount 
produces  and  increases  and  preserves  them.  Just  so,  then,  is  it 
with  temperance  also,  and  courage,  and  the  other  virtues.  The 
man  who  shuns  and  fears  everything  and  never  makes  a stand, 
becomes  a coward;  while  the  man  who  fears  nothing  at  all,  but 
will  face  anything,  becomes  foolhardy.  So,  too,  the  man  who 
takes  his  fill  of  any  kind  of  pleasure,  and  abstains  from  none,  is 
a profligate,  but  the  man  who  shuns  all  (like  him  whom  we  call 
a “boor”)  is  devoid  of  sensibility.  Thus  temperance  and  cour- 
age are  destroyed  both  by  excess  and  defect,  but  preserved  by 
moderation. 

But  habits  or  types  of  character  are  not  only  produced  and 
preserved  and  destroyed  by  the  same  occasions  and  the  same 
means,  but  they  will  also  manifest  themselves  in  the  same  cir- 
cumstances. This  is  the  case  with  palpable  things  like  strength. 
Strength  is  produced  by  taking  plenty  of  nourishment  and  doing 
plenty  of  hard  work,  and  the  strong  man,  in  turn,  has  the  greatest 
capacity  for  these.  And  the  case  is  the  same  with  the  virtues: 
by  abstaining  from  pleasure  we  become  temperate,  and  when  we 
have  become  temperate  we  are  best  able  to  abstain.  And  so  with 
courage : by  habituating  ourselves  to  despise  danger,  and  to  face 
it,  we  become  courageous;  and  when  we  have  become  cour- 
ageous, we  are  best  able  to  face  danger. 

5.  We  have  next  to  inquire  what  excellence  or  virtue  is. 

A quality  of  the  soul  is  either  (i)  a passion  or  emotion,  or  (2) 
a power  or  faculty,  or  (3)  a habit  or  trained  faculty;  and  so  vir- 


THE  NICOMACHEAN  ETHICS 


69 

tue  must  be  one  of  these  three.  By  (i)  a passion  or  emotion  we 
mean  appetite,  anger,  fear,  confidence,  envy,  joy,  love,  hate, 
longing,  emulation,  pity,  or  generally  that  which  is  accompanied 
by  pleasure  or  pain;  (2)  a power  or  faculty  is  that  in  respect  of 
which  we  are  said  to  be  capable  of  being  affected  in  any  of  these 
ways,  as,  for  instance,  that  in  respect  of  which  we  are  able  to  be 
angered  or  pained  or  to  pity;  and  (3)  a habit  or  trained  faculty  is 
that  in  respect  of  which  we  are  well  or  ill  regulated  or  disposed  in 
the  matter  of  our  affections;  as,  for  instance,  in  the  matter  of  be- 
ing angered,  we  are  ill  regulated  if  we  are  too  violent  or  too  slack, 
but  if  we  are  moderate  in  our  anger  we  are  well  regulated.  And 
so  with  the  rest. 

Now,  the  virtues  are  not  emotions,  nor  are  the  vices:  (i)  be- 
cause we  are  not  called  good  or  bad  in  respect  of  our  emotions 
but  are  called  so  in  respect  of  our  virtues  or  vices;  (2)  because 
we  are  neither  praised  nor  blamed  in  respect  of  our  emotions 
(a  man  is  not  praised  for  being  afraid  or  angry,  nor  blamed  for 
being  angry  simply,  but  for  being  angry  in  a particular  way), 
but  we  are  praised  or  blamed  in  respect  of  our  virtues  or  vices ; 
(3)  because  we  may  be  angered  or  frightened  without  deliberate 
choice,  but  the  virtues  are  a kind  of  deliberate  choice,  or  at  least 
are  impossible  without  it ; and  (4)  because  in  respect  of  our  emo- 
tions we  are  said  to  be  moved,  but  in  respect  of  our  virtues  and 
vices  we  are  not  said  to  be  moved,  but  to  be  regulated  or  disposed 
in  this  way  or  in  that. 

For  these  same  reasons  also  they  are  not  powers  or  faculties; 
for  we  are  not  called  either  good  or  bad  for  being  merely  capable 
of  emotion,  nor  are  we  either  praised  or  blamed  for  this.  And 
further,  while  nature  gives  us  our  powers  or  faculties,  she  does 
not  make  us  either  good  or  bad.  (This  point,  however,  we  have 
already  treated.) 

If,  then,  the  virtues  be  neither  emotions  nor  faculties,  it  only 
remains  for  them  to  be  habits  or  trained  faculties. 

6.  We  have  thus  found  the  genus  to  which  virtue  belongs; 
but  we  want  to  know,  not  only  that  it  is  a trained  faculty,  but  also 
what  species  of  trained  faculty  it  is. 

We  may  safely  assert  that  the  virtue  or  excellence  of  a thing 


70 


ARISTOTLE 


causes  that  thing  both  to  be  itself  in  good  condition  and  to  per- 
form its  function  well.  The  excellence  of  the  eye,  for  instance, 
makes  both  the  eye  and  its  work  good ; for  it  is  by  the  excellence 
of  the  eye  that  we  see  well.  So  the  proper  excellence  of  the  horse 
makes  a horse  what  he  should  be,  and  makes  him  good  at  run- 
ning, and  carrying  his  rider,  and  standing  a charge. 

If,  then,  this  holds  good  in  all  cases,  the  proper  excellence  or 
virtue  of  man  will  be  the  habit  or  trained  faculty  that  makes  a 
man  good  and  makes  him  perform  his  function  well. 

How  this  is  to  be  done  we  have  already  said,  but  we  may  ex- 
hibit the  same  conclusion  in  another  way,  by  inquiring  what  the 
nature  of  this  virtue  is. 

Now,  if  we  have  any  quantity,  whether  continuous  or  discrete, 
it  is  possible  to  take  either  a larger  [or  too  large],  or  a smaller 
[or  too  small],  or  an  equal  [or  fair]  amount,  and  that  either  ab- 
solutely or  relatively  to  our  own  needs. 

By  an  equal  or  fair  amount  I understand  a mean  amount,  or 
one  that  lies  between  excess  and  deficiency. 

By  the  absolute  mean,  or  mean  relatively  to  the  thing  itself, 
I understand  that  which  is  equidistant  from  both  extremes,  and 
this  is  one  and  the  same  for  all. 

By  the  mean  relatively  to  us  I understand  that  which  is  neither 
too  much  nor  too  little  for  us;  and  this  is  not  one  and  the  same 
for  all. 

For  instance,  if  ten  be  larger  [or  too  large]  and  two  be  smaller 
[or  too  small],  if  we  take  six  we  take  the  mean  relatively  to  the 
thing  itself  [or  the  arithmetical  mean];  for  it  exceeds  one  extreme 
by  the  same  amount  by  which  it  is  exceeded  by  the  other  extreme, 
and  this  is  the  mean  in  arithmetical  proportion. 

But  the  mean  relatively  to  us  cannot  be  found  in  this  way.  If 
ten  pounds  of  food  is  too  much  for  a given  man  to  eat,  and  two 
pounds  too  little,  it  does  not  follow  that  the  trainer  will  order 
him  six  pounds:  for  that  also  may  perhaps  be  too  much  for 
the  man  in  question,  or  too  little;  too  little  for  Milo,  too  much 
for  the  beginner.  The  same  holds  true  in  running  and  wrest- 
ling. 

And  so  we  may  say  generally  that  a master  in  any  art  avoids 


THE  NICOMACHEAN  ETHICS  71 

what  is  too  much  and  what  is  too  little,  and  seeks  for  the  mean 
and  chooses  it  — not  the  absolute  but  the  relative  mean. 

If,  then,  every  art  or  science  perfects  its  work  in  this  way,  look- 
ing to  the  mean  and  bringing  its  work  up  to  this  standard  (so 
that  people  are  wont  to  say  of  a good  work  that  nothing  could  be 
taken  from  it  or  added  to  it,  implying  that  excellence  is  destroyed 
by  excess  or  deficiency,  but  secured  by  observing  the  mean ; and 
good  artists,  as  we  say,  do  in  fact  keep  their  eyes  fixed  on  this 
in  all  that  they  do),  and  if  virtue,  like  nature,  is  more  exact  and 
better  than  any  art,  it  follows  that  virtue  also  mmst  aim  at  the 
mean  — virtue  of  course  meaning  moral  virtue  or  excellence;  for 
it  has  to  do  with  passions  and  actions,  and  it  is  these  that  admit 
of  excess  and  deficiency  and  the  mean.  For  instance,  it  is  possible 
to  feel  fear,  confidence,  desire,  anger,  pity,  and  generally  to  be 
affected  pleasantly  and  painfully,  either  too  much  or  too  little, 
in  either  case  wrongly;  but  to  be  thus  affected  at  the  right  times, 
and  on  the  right  occasions,  and  towards  the  right  persons,  and 
with  the  right  object,  and  in  the  right  fashion,  is  the  mean  course 
and  the  best  course,  and  these  are  characteristics  of  virtue.  And 
in  the  same  way  our  outward  acts  also  admit  of  excess  and  defi- 
ciency, and  the  mean  or  due  amount. 

Virtue,  then,  has  to  deal  with  feelings  or  passions  and  with 
outward  acts,  in  which  excess  is  wrong  and  deficiency  also  is 
blamed,  but  the  mean  amount  is  praised  and  is  right  — both  of 
which  are  characteristics  of  virtue. 

Virtue,  then,  is  a kind  of  moderation  (/xecrrdrT;?  rts-) , inasmuch 
as  it  aims  at  the  mean  or  moderate  amount  (to  /xeo-ov). 

Again,  there  are  many  ways  of  going  wrong  (for  evil  is  infinite 
in  nature,  to  use  a Pythagorean  figure,  while  good  is  finite),  but 
only  one  way  of  going  right ; so  that  the  one  is  easy  and  the  other 
hard  — easy  to  miss  the  mark  and  hard  to  hit.  On  this  account 
also,  then,  excess  and  deficiency  are  characteristic  of  vice,  hitting 
the  mean  is  characteristic  of  virtue : — 

Goodness  is  simple,  ill  takes  any  shape. 

Virtue,  then,  is  a habit  or  trained  faculty  of  choice,  the  char- 
acteristic of  which  lies  in  moderation  or  observance  of  the  mean 


72 


ARISTOTLE 


relatively  to  the  persons  concerned,  as  determined  by  reason, 
i.  e.  by  the  reason  by  ■which  the  prudent  man  would  determine  it. 
And  it  is  a moderation,  firstly,  inasmuch  as  it  comes  in  the  mid- 
dle or  mean  between  two  vices,  one  on  the  side  of  excess,  the 
other  on  the  side  of  defect;  and,  secondly,  inasmuch  as,  while 
these  vices  fall  short  of  or  exceed  the  due  measure  in  feeling  and 
in  action,  it  finds  and  chooses  the  mean,  middling,  or  moderate 
amount. 

Regarded  in  its  essence,  therefore,  or  according  to  the  defini- 
tion of  its  nature,  virtue  is  a moderation  or  middle  state,  but 
viewed  in  its  relation  to  what  is  best  and  right  it  is  the  extreme 
of  perfection. 

But  it  is  not  all  actions  nor  all  passions  that  admit  of  modera- 
tion; there  are  some  whose  very  names  imply  badness,  as  male- 
volence, shamelessness,  envy,  and,  among  acts,  adultery,  theft, 
murder.  These  and  all  other  like  things  are  blamed  as  being 
bad  in  themselves,  and  not  merely  in  their  excess  or  deficiency. 
It  is  impossible  therefore  to  go  right  in  them;  they  are  always 
wrong : rightness  and  wrongness  in  such  things  {e.  g.  in  adultery) 
does  not  depend  upon  whether  it  is  the  right  person  and  occasion 
and  manner,  but  the  mere  doing  of  any  one  of  them  is  wrong. 

It  would  be  equally  absurd  to  look  for  moderation  or  excess 
or  deficiency  in  unjust,  cowardly,  or  profligate  conduct;  for  then 
there  would  be  moderation  in  excess  or  deficiency,  and  excess  in 
excess,  and  deficiency  in  deficiency. 

The  fact  is  that  just  as  there  can  be  no  excess  or  deficiency  in 
temperance  or  courage  because  the  mean  or  moderate  amount 
is,  in  a sense,  an  extreme,  so  in  these  kinds  of  conduct  also  there 
can  be  no  moderation  or  excess  or  deficiency,  but  the  acts  are 
wrong  however  they  be  done.  For,  to  put  it  generally,  there  can- 
not be  moderation  in  excess  or  deficiency,  nor  excess  or  deficiency 
in  moderation. 

7.  But  it  is  not  enough  to  make  these  general  statements  [about 
virtue  and  vice] : we  must  go  on  and  apply  them  to  particulars 
[f.  e.  to  the  several  virtues  and  vices].  For  in  reasoning  about 
matters  of  conduct  general  statements  are  too  vague,  and  do  not 
convey  so  much  truth  as  particular  propositions.  It  is  with  par- 


THE  NICOMACHEAN  ETHICS 


73 


ticulars  that  conduct  is  concerned:  our  statements,  therefore, 
when  applied  to  these  particulars,  should  be  found  to  hold 
good. 

These  particulars  then  [f.  e.  the  several  virtues  and  vices  and 
the  several  acts  and  affections  with  which  they  deal],  we  will 
take  from  the  following  table. 

Moderation  in  the  feelings  of  fear  and  confidence  is  courage : 
of  those  that  exceed,  he  that  exceeds  in  fearlessness  has  no  name 
(as  often  happens),  but  he  that  exceeds  in  confidence  is  foolhardy, 
while  he  that  exceeds  in  fear,  but  is  deficient  in  confidence,  is 
cowardly. 

Moderation  in  respect  of  certain  pleasures  and  also  (though 
to  a less  extent)  certain  pains  is  temperance,  while  excess  is 
profligacy.  But  defectiveness  in  the  matter  of  these  pleasures  is 
hardly  ever  found,  and  so  this  sort  of  people  also  have  as  yet 
received  no  name:  let  us  put  them  down  as  “void  of  sensibility.” 

In  the  matter  of  giving  and  taking  money,  moderation  is 
liberality,  excess  and  deficiency  are  prodigality  and  illiberality. 
But  both  vices  exceed  and  fall  short  in  giving  and  taking  in  con- 
trary ways : the  prodigal  exceeds  in  spending,  but  falls  short  in 
taking;  while  the  illiberal  man  exceeds  in  taking,  but  falls  short 
in  spending.  (For  the  present  we  are  but  giving  an  outline  or 
summary,  and  aim  at  nothing  more;  we  shall  afterwards  treat 
these  points  in  greater  detail.) 

But,  besides  these,  there  are  other  dispositions  in  the  matter 
of  money:  there  is  a moderation  which  is  called  magnificence  (for 
the  magnificent  is  not  the  same  as  the  liberal  man:  the  former 
deals  with  large  sums,  the  latter  with  small) , and  an  excess  which 
is  called  bad  taste  or  vulgarity,  and  a deficiency  which  is  called 
meanness;  and  these  vices  differ  from  those  which  are  opposed 
to  liberality : how  they  differ  will  be  explained  later. 

With  respect  to  honour  and  disgrace,  there  is  a moderation 
which  is  high-mindedness,  an  excess  which  may  be  called  vanity, 
and  a deficiency  which  is  little-mindedness. 

But  just  as  we  said  that  liberality  is  related  to  magnificence, 
differing  only  in  that  it  deals  with  small  sums,  so  here  there  is  a 
virtue  related  to  high-mindedness,  and  differing  only  in  that  it 


74 


ARISTOTLE 


is  concerned  with  small  instead  of  great  honours.  A man  may 
have  a due  desire  for  honour,  and  also  more  or  less  than  a due 
desire:  he  that  carries  this  desire  to  excess  is  called  ambitious, 
he  that  has  not  enough  of  it  is  called  unambitious,  but  he  that 
has  the  due  amount  has  no  name.  There  are  also  no  abstract 
names  for  the  characters,  except  “ambition,”  corresponding  to 
ambitious.  And  on  this  account  those  who  occupy  the  extremes 
lay  claim  to  the  middle  place.  And  in  common  parlance,  too,  the 
moderate  man  is  sometimes  called  ambitious  and  sometimes  un- 
ambitious, and  sometimes  the  ambitious  man  is  praised  and 
sometimes  the  unambitious.  Why  this  is  we  will  explain  after- 
wards; for  the  present  we  will  follow  out  our  plan  and  enumer- 
ate the  other  types  of  character. 

In  the  matter  of  anger  also  we  find  excess  and  deficiency  and 
moderation.  The  characters  themselves  hardly  have  recognized 
names,  but  as  the  moderate  man  is  here  called  gentle,  we  will  call 
his  character  gentleness ; of  those  who  go  into  extremes,  we  may 
take  the  term  wrathful  for  him  who  exceeds,  with  wrathfulness 
for  the  vice,  and  wrathless  for  him  who  is  deficient,  with  wrath- 
lessness  for  his  character. 

Besides  these,  there  are  three  kinds  of  moderation,  bearing 
some  resemblance  to  one  another,  and  yet  different.  They  all 
have  to  do  with  intercourse  in  speech  and  action,  but  they  differ 
in  that  one  has  to  do  with  the  truthfulness  of  this  intercourse, 
while  the  other  two  have  to  do  with  its  pleasantness  — one  of 
the  two  with  pleasantness  in  matters  of  amusement,  the  other 
with  pleasantness  in  all  the  relations  of  life.  We  must  therefore 
speak  of  these  qualities  also  in  order  that  we  may  the  more 
plainly  see  how,  in  all  cases,  moderation  is  praiseworthy,  while 
the  extreme  courses  are  neither  right  nor  praiseworthy,  but 
blamable. 

In  these  cases  also  names  are  for  the  most  part  wanting,  but 
we  must  try,  here  as  elsewhere,  to  coin  names  ourselves,  in  order 
to  make  our  argument  clear  and  easy  to  follow. 

In  the  matter  of  truth,  then,  let  us  call  him  who  observes  the 
mean  a true  [or  truthful]  person,  and  observance  of  the  mean 
truth  [or  truthfulness]:  pretence,  when  it  exaggerates,  may  be 


THE  NICOMACHEAN  ETHICS 


75 

called  boasting,  and  the  person  a boaster;  when  it  understates, 
let  the  names  be  irony  and  ironical. 

With  regard  to  pleasantness  in  amusement,  he  who  observes 
the  mean  may  be  called  witty,  and  his  character  wittiness ; excess 
may  be  called  buffoonery,  and  the  man  a buffoon ; while  boorish 
may  stand  for  the  person  who  is  deficient,  and  boorishness  for 
his  character. 

With  regard  to  pleasantness  in  the  other  affairs  of  life,  he  who 
makes  himself  properly  pleasant  may  be  called  friendly,  and  his 
moderation  friendliness;  he  that  exceeds  may  be  called  obse- 
quious if  he  have  no  ulterior  motive,  but  a flatterer  if  he  has  an 
eye  to  his  own  advantage;  he  that  is  deficient  in  this  respect, 
and  always  makes  himself  disagreeable,  may  be  called  a quar- 
relsome or  peevish  fellow. 

Moreover,  in  mere  emotions  and  in  our  conduct  with  regard 
to  them,  there  are  ways  of  observing  the  mean ; for  instance  shame 
(atScis)  is  not  a virtue,  but  yet  the  modest  {alSijjxoiv)  man  is 
praised.  For  in  these  matters  also  we  speak  of  this  man  as  ob- 
serving the  mean,  of  that  man  as  going  beyond  it  (as  the  shame- 
faced man  whom  the  least  thing  makes  shy),  while  he  who  is 
deficient  in  the  feeling,  or  lacks  it  altogether,  is  called  shameless; 
but  the  term  modest  (alS-^ixoiv)  is  applied  to  him  who  observes 
the  mean. 

Righteous  indignation,  again,  hits  the  mean  between  envy  and 
malevolence.  These  have  to  do  with  feelings  of  pleasure  and 
pain  at  what  happens  to  our  neighbours.  A man  is  called  right- 
eously indignant  when  he  feels  pain  at  the  sight  of  undeserved 
prosperity,  but  your  envious  man  goes  beyond  him  and  is  pained 
by  the  sight  of  any  one  in  prosperity,  while  the  malevolent  man 
is  so  far  from  being  pained  that  he  actually  exults  in  the  misfor- 
tunes of  his  neighbours. 

But  we  shall  have  another  opportunity  of  discussing  these 
matters. 

As  for  justice,  the  term  is  used  in  more  senses  than  one;  we 
will,  therefore,  after  disposing  of  the  above  questions,  distinguish 
these  various  senses,  and  show  how  each  of  these  kinds  of  justice 
is  a kind  of  moderation. 


;6  ARISTOTLE 

And  then  we  will  treat  of  the  intellectual  virtues  in  the  same 
way. 

8.  There  are,  as  we  said,  three  classes  of  disposition,  viz.  two 
kinds  of  vice,  one  marked  by  excess,  the  other  by  deficiency,  and 
one  kind  of  virtue,  the  observance  of  the  mean.  Now,  each  is  in 
a way  opposed  to  each,  for  the  extreme  dispositions  are  opposed 
both  to  the  mean  or  moderate  disposition  and  to  one  another, 
while  the  moderate  disposition  is  opposed  to  both  the  extremes. 
Just  as  a quantity  which  is  equal  to  a given  quantity  is  also 
greater  when  compared  with  a less,  and  less  when  compared  with 
a greater  quantity,  so  the  mean  or  moderate  dispositions  exceed 
as  compared  with  the  defective  dispositions,  and  fall  short  as 
compared  with  the  excessive  dispositions,  both  in  feeling  and  in 
action;  e,  g.  the  courageous  man  seems  foolhardy  as  compared 
with  the  coward,  and  cowardly  as  compared  with  the  foolhardy ; 
and  similarly  the  temperate  man  appears  profligate  in  compari- 
son with  the  insensible,  and  insensible  in  comparison  with  the 
profligate  man;  and  the  liberal  man  appears  prodigal  by  the  side 
of  the  illiberal  man,  and  illiberal  by  the  side  of  the  prodigal  man. 

And  so  the  extreme  characters  try  to  displace  the  mean  or 
moderate  character,  and  each  represents  him  as  falling  into  the 
opposite  extreme,  the  coward  calling  the  courageous  man  fool- 
hardy, the  foolhardy  calling  him  coward,  and  so  on  in  other  cases. 

But  while  the  mean  and  the  extremes  are  thus  opposed  to  one 
another,  the  extremes  are  strictly  contrary  to  each  other  rather 
than  to  the  mean ; for  they  are  further  removed  from  one  another 
than  from  the  mean,  as  that  which  is  greater  than  a given  mag- 
nitude is  further  from  that  which  is  less,  and  that  which  is  less  is 
further  from  that  which  is  greater,  than  either  the  greater  or  the 
less  is  from  that  which  is  equal  to  the  given  magnitude. 

Sometimes,  again,  an  extreme,  when  compared  with  the  mean, 
has  a sort  of  resemblance  to  it,  as  foolhardiness  to  courage,  or 
prodigality  to  liberality;  but  there  is  the  greatest  possible  dis- 
similarity between  the  extremes. 

Again,  “things  that  are  as  far  as  possible  removed  from  each 
other”  is  the  accepted  definition  of  contraries,  so  that  the  further 
things  are  removed  from  each  other  the  more  contrary  they  are. 


THE  NICOMACHEAN  ETHICS 


77 


In  comparison  with  the  mean,  however,  it  is  sometimes  the 
deficiency  that  is  the  more  opposed,  and  sometimes  the  excess; 
e.  g.  foolhardiness,  which  is  excess,  is  not  so  much  opposed  to 
courage  as  cowardice,  which  is  deficiency;  but  insensibility, 
which  is  lack  of  feeling,  is  not  so  much  opposed  to  temperance 
as  profligacy,  which  is  excess. 

The  reasons  for  this  are  two.  One  is  the  reason  derived  from 
the  nature  of  the  matter  itself : since  one  extreme  is,  in  fact,  nearer 
and  more  similar  to  the  mean,  we  naturally  do  not  oppose  it  to 
the  mean  so  strongly  as  the  other;  e.  g.  as  foolhardiness  seems 
more  similar  to  courage  and  nearer  to  it,  and  cowardice  more  dis- 
similar, we  speak  of  cowardice  as  the  opposite  rather  than  the 
other:  for  that  which  is  further  removed  from  the  mean  seems 
to  be  more  opposed  to  it. 

This,  then,  is  one  reason,  derived  from  the  nature  of  the  thing 
itself.  Another  reason  lies  in  ourselves : and  it  is  this  — those 
things  to  which  we  happen  to  be  more  prone  by  nature  appear 
to  be  more  opposed  to  the  mean : e.  g.  our  natural  inclination  is 
rather  towards  indulgence  in  pleasure,  and  so  we  more  easily  fall 
into  profligate  than  into  regular  habits : those  courses,  then,  on 
which  we  are  more  apt  to  run  to  great  lengths  are  spoken  of  as 
more  opposed  to  the  mean;  and  thus  profligacy,  which  is  an  ex- 
cess, is  more  opposed  to  temperance  than  the  deficiency  is. 

9.  We  have  sufficiently  explained,  then,  that  moral  virtue  is 
moderation  or  observance  of  the  mean,  and  in  what  sense,  viz. 
(t)  as  holding  a middle  position  between  two  vices,  one  on  the 
side  of  excess,  and  the  other  on  the  side  of  deficiency,  and  (2)  as 
aiming  at  the  mean  or  moderate  amount  both  in  feeling  and  in 
action. 

And  on  this  account  it  is  a hard  thing  to  be  good;  for  finding 
the  middle  or  the  mean  in  each  case  is  a hard  thing,  just  as  find- 
ing the  middle  or  centre  of  a circle  is  a thing  that  is  not  within 
the  power  of  everybody,  but  only  of  him  who  has  the  requisite 
knowledge. 

Thus  any  one  can  be  angry  — that  is  quite  easy ; any  one  can 
give  money  away  or  spend  it ; but  to  do  these  things  to  the  right 
person,  to  the  right  extent,  at  the  right  time,  with  the  right  object. 


ARISTOTLE 


78 

and  in  the  right  manner,  is  not  what  everybody  can  do,  and  is 
by  no  means  easy;  and  that  is  the  reason  why  right  doing  is  rare 
and  praiseworthy  and  noble. 

He  that  aims  at  the  mean,  then,  should  first  of  all  strive  to 
avoid  that  extreme  which  is  more  opposed  to  it,  as  Calypso'  bids 
Ulysses  — 

Clear  of  these  smoking  breakers  keep  thy  ship. 

For  of  the  extremes  one  is  more  dangerous,  the  other  less.  Since 
then  it  is  hard  to  hit  the  mean  precisely,  we  must  “row  when  we 
cannot  sail,”  as  the  proverb  has  it,  and  choose  the  least  of  two 
evils;  and  that  will  be  best  effected  in  the  way  we  have  described. 

And  secondly  we  must  consider,  each  for  himself,  what  we  are 
most  prone  to  — for  different  natures  are  inclined  to  different 
things  — which  we  may  learn  by  the  pleasure  or  pain  we  feel. 
And  then  we  must  bend  ourselves  in  the  opposite  direction;  for 
by  keeping  well  away  from  error  we  shall  fall  into  the  middle 
course,  as  we  straighten  a bent  stick  by  bending  it  the  other  way. 

But  in  all  cases  we  must  be  especially  on  our  guard  against 
pleasant  things,  and  against  pleasure;  for  we  can  scarce  judge 
her  impartially.  And  so,  in  our  behaviour  towards  her,  we  should 
imitate  the  behaviour  of  the  old  counsellors  towards  Helen,^  and 
in  all  cases  repeat  their  saying:  if  we  dismiss  her  we  shall  be  less 
likely  to  go  wrong. 

This  then,  in  outline,  is  the  course  by  which  we  shall  best  be 
able  to  hit  the  mean. 

But  ’it  is  a hard  task,  we  must  admit,  especially  in  a particular 
case.  It  is  not  easy  to  determine,  for  instance,  how  and  with 
whom  one  ought  to  be  angry,  and  upon  what  grounds,  and  for 
how'  long;  for  public  opinion  sometimes  praises  those  who  fall 
short,  and  calls  them  gentle,  and  sometimes  applies  the  term 
manly  to  those  who  show  a harsh  temper. 

In  fact,  a slight  error,  whether  on  the  side  of  excess  or  defi- 
ciency, is  not  blamed,  but  only  a considerable  error;  for  then 
there  can  be  no  mistake.  But  it  is  hardly  possible  to  determine 
by  reasoning  how  far  or  to  what  extent  a man  must  err  in  order 

^ Homer’s  Odyssey,  xii.  loi-iio,  and  219-220:  Calypso  should  be  Circe. 

^ Homer's  Iliad,  ill.  154-164. 


THE  NICOMACHEAN  ETHICS 


79 


to  incur  blame;  and  indeed  matters  that  fall  within  the  scope  of 
perception  never  can  be  so  determined.  Such  matters  lie  within 
the  region  of  particulars,  and  can  only  be  determined  by  per- 
ception. 

So  much  then  is  plain,  that  the  middle  character  is  in  all  cases 
to  be  praised,  but  that  we  ought  to  incline  sometimes  towards 
excess,  sometimes  towards  deficiency;  for  in  this  way  we  shall 
most  easily  hit  the  mean  and  attain  to  right  doing. 


BOOK  III.  THE  WILL 

VIRTUE  AND  VICE  VOLUNTARY 

4.  Wish,  we  have  already  said,  is  for  the  end;  but  whereas 
some  hold  that  the  object  of  wish  is  the  good,  others  hold  that  it 
is  what  seems  good. 

Those  who  maintain  that  the  object  of  wish  is  the  good  have 
to  admit  that  what  those  wish  for  who  choose  wrongly  is  not  ob- 
ject of  wish  (for  if  so  it  would  be  good;  but  it  may  so  happen  that 
it  was  bad) ; on  the  other  hand,  those  who  maintain  that  the  ob- 
ject of  wish  is  what  seems  good  have  to  admit  that  there  is  no- 
thing which  is  naturally  object  of  wish,  but  that  each  wishes  for 
what  seems  good  to  him  — different  and  even  contrary  things 
seeming  good  to  different  people. 

As  neither  of  these  alternatives  quite  satisfies  us,  perhaps  we 
had  better  say  that  the  good  is  the  real  object  of  wish  (without 
any  qualifying  epithet),  but  that  what  seems  good  is  object  of 
wish  to  each  man.  The  good  man,  then,  wishes  for  the  real  ob- 
ject of  wish;  but  what  the  bad  man  wishes  for  may  be  anything 
whatever;  just  as,  with  regard  to  the  body,  those  who  are  in  good 
condition  find  those  things  healthy  that  are  really  healthy,  while 
those  who  are  diseased  find  other  things  healthy  (and  it  is  just 
the  same  with  things  bitter,  sweet,  hot,  heavy,  etc.) : for  the  good 
or  ideal  man  judges  each  case  correctly,  and  in  each  case  what 
is  true  seems  true  to  him. 

For,  corresponding  to  each  of  our  trained  faculties,  there  is  a 
special  form  of  the  noble  and  the  pleasant,  and  perhaps  there  is 


8o 


ARISTOTLE 


nothing  so  distinctive  of  the  good  or  ideal  man  as  the  power  he 
has  of  discerning  these  special  forms  in  each  case,  being  himself, 
as  it  were,  their  standard  and  measure. 

What  misleads  people  seems  to  be  in  most  cases  pleasure;  it 
seems  to  be  a good  thing,  even  when  it  is  not.  So  they  choose 
what  is  pleasant  as  good,  and  shun  pain  as  evil. 

5.  We  have  seen  that,  while  we  wish  for  the  end,  we  deliberate 
upon  and  choose  the  means  thereto. 

Actions  that  are  concerned  with  means,  then,  will  be  guided 
by  choice,  and  so  will  be  voluntary. 

But  the  acts  in  which  the  virtues  are  manifested  are  concerned 
with  means. 

Therefore  virtue  depends  upon  ourselves;  and  vice  likewise. 
For  where  it  lies  with  us  to  do,  it  lies  with  us  not  to  do.  Where 
we  can  say  no,  we  can  say  yes.  If  then  the  doing  a deed,  which  is 
noble,  lies  with  us,  the  not  doing  it,  which  is  disgraceful,  lies  with 
us;  and  if  the  not  doing,  which  is  noble,  lies  with  us,  the  doing, 
which  is  disgraceful,  also  lies  with  us.  But  if  the  doing  and  like- 
wise the  not  doing  of  noble  or  base  deeds  lies  with  us,  and  if  this 
is,  as  we  found,  identical  with  being  good  or  bad,  then  it  follows 
that  it  lies  with  us  to  be  worthy  or  worthless  men. 

And  so  the  saying  — 

None  would  be  wicked,  none  would  not  be  blessed, 

seems  partly  false  and  partly  true ; no  one  indeed  is  blessed  against 
his  will;  but  vice  is  voluntary. 

If  we  deny  this,  we  must  dispute  the  statements  made  just  now, 
and  must  contend  that  man  is  not  the  originator  and  the  parent 
of  his  actions,  as  of  his  children. 

But  if  those  statements  commend  themselves  to  us,  and  if  we 
are  unable  to  trace  our  acts  to  any  other  sources  than  those  that 
depend  upon  ourselves,  then  that  whose  source  is  within  us  must 
itself  depend  upon  us  and  be  voluntary. 

This  seems  to  be  attested,  moreover,  by  each  one  of  us  in  pri- 
vate life,  and  also  by  the  legislators;  for  they  correct  and  punish 
those  that  do  evil  (except  when  it  is  done  under  compulsion,  or 
through  ignorance  for  which  the  agent  is  not  responsible),  and 


THE  NICOMACHEAN  ETHICS 


8i 


honour  those  that  do  noble  deeds,  evidently  intending  to  encour- 
age the  one  sort  and  discourage  the  other.  But  no  one  encourages 
us  to  do  that  which  does  not  depend  on  ourselves,  and  which  is 
not  voluntary : it  would  be  useless  to  be  persuaded  not  to  feel  heat 
or  pain  or  hunger  and  so  on,  as  we  should  feel  them  all  the  same. 

I say  “ignorance  for  which  the  agent  is  not  responsible,”  for 
the  ignorance  itself  is  punished  by  the  law,  if  the  agent  appear  to 
be  responsible  for  his  ignorance,  e.  g.  for  an  offence  committed 
in  a fit  of  drunkenness  the  penalty  is  doubled : for  the  origin  of 
the  offence  lies  in  the  man  himself;  he  might  have  avoided  the 
intoxication,  which  was  the  cause  of  his  ignorance.  Again,  igno- 
rance of  any  of  the  ordinances  of  the  law,  which  a man  ought  to 
know  and  easily  can  know,  does  not  avert  punishment.  And  so  in 
other  cases,  where  ignorance  seems  to  be  the  result  of  negligence, 
the  offender  is  punished,  since  it  lay  with  him  to  remove  this 
ignorance;  for  he  might  have  taken  the  requisite  trouble. 

It  may  be  objected  that  it  was  the  man’s  character  not  to  take 
the  trouble. 

We  reply  that  men  are  themselves  responsible  for  acquiring 
such  a character  by  a dissolute  life,  and  for  being  unjust  or  pro- 
fligate in  consequence  of  repeated  acts  of  wrong,  or  of  spending 
their  time  in  drinking  and  so  on.  For  it  is  repeated  acts  of  a par- 
ticular kind  that  give  a man  a particular  character. 

This  is  shown  by  the  way  in  which  men  train  themselves  for 
any  kind  of  contest  or  performance;  they  practise  continually. 

Not  to  know,  then,  that  repeated  acts  of  this  or  that  kind  pro- 
duce a corresponding  character  or  habit,  shows  an  utter  want  of 
sense. 

Moreover,  it  is  absurd  to  say  that  he  who  acts  unjustly 
does  not  wdsh  to  be  unjust,  or  that  he  who  behaves  profli- 
gately does  not  wish  to  be  profligate. 

But  if  a man  knowingly  does  acts  which  must  make  him  un- 
just, he  will  be  voluntarily  unjust;  though  it  does  not  follow 
that,  if  he  wishes  it,  he  can  cease  to  be  unjust  and  be  just,  any 
more  than  he  who  is  sick  can,  if  he  wishes  it,  be  whole.  And  it 
may  be  that  he  is  voluntarily  sick,  through  living  incontinently 
and  disobeying  the  doctor.  At  one  time,  then,  he  had  the  option 


Si 


ARISTOTLE 


not  to  be  sick,  but  he  no  longer  has  it  now  that  he  has  thrown 
away  his  health.  When  you  have  discharged  a stone  it  is  no 
longer  in  your  power  to  call  it  back,;  but  nevertheless  the  throw- 
ing and  casting  away  of  that  stone  rests  with  you;  for  the  be- 
ginning of  its  flight  depended  upon  you. 

Just  so  the  unjust  or  the  profligate  man  at  the  beginning  was 
free  not  to  acquire  this  character,  and  therefore  he  is  voluntarily 
unjust  or  profligate;  but  now  that  he  has  acquired  it,  he  is  no 
longer  free  to  put  it  off. 

But  it  is  not  only  our  mental  or  moral  vices  that  are  voluntary; 
bodily  vices  also  are  sometimes  voluntary,  and  then  are  censured. 
We  do  not  censure  natural  ugliness,  but  we  do  censure  that  which 
is  due  to  negligence  and  want  of  exercise.  And  so  with  weakness 
and  infirmity:  we  should  never  reproach  a man  who  was  born 
blind,  or  had  lost  his  sight  in  an  illness  or  by  a blow  — we  should 
rather  pity  him;  but  we  should  all  censure  a man  who  had  blinded 
himself  by  excessive  drinking  or  any  other  kind  of  profligacy. 

We  see,  then,  that  of  the  vices  of  the  body  it  is  those  that 
depend  on  ourselves  that  are  censured,  while  those  that  do  not 
depend  on  ourselves  are  not  censured.  And  if  this  be  so,  then 
in  other  fields  also  those  vices  that  are  blamed  must  depend 
upon  ourselves. 

Some  people  may  perhaps  object  to  this. 

“All  men,”  they  may  say,  “desire  that  which  appears  good  to 
them,  but  cannot  control  this  appearance;  a man’s  character, 
whatever  it  be,  decides  what  shall  appear  to  him  to  be  the  end.” 

If,  I answer,  each  man  be  in  some  way  responsible  for  his 
habits  or  character,  then  in  some  way  he  must  be  responsible  for 
this  appearance  also. 

But  if  this  be  not  the  case,  then  a man  is  not  responsible  for, 
or  is  not  the  cause  of,  his  own  evil  doing,  but  it  is  through  igno- 
rance of  the  end  that  he  does  evil,  fancying  that  thereby  he  will 
secure  the  greatest  good : and  the  striving  towards  the  true  end 
does  not  depend  on  our  own  choice,  but  a man  must  be  born  with 
a gift  of  sight,  so  to  speak,  if  he  is  to  discriminate  rightly  and  to 
choose  what  is  really  good : and  he  is  truly  well  born  who  is  by 
nature  richly  endowed  with  this  gift;  for,  as  it  is  the  greatest  and 


THE  NICOMACHEAN  ETHICS 


83 

the  fairest  gift,  which  we  cannot  acquire  or  learn  from  another, 
but  must  keep  all  our  lives  just  as  nature  gave  it  to  us,  to  be  w'ell 
and  nobly  born  in  this  respect  is  to  be  well  born  in  the  truest 
and  completest  sense. 

Now,  granting  this  to  be  true,  how  will  virtue  be  any  more 
voluntary  than  vice? 

For  whether  it  be  nature  or  anything  else  that  determines  what 
shall  appear  to  be  the  end,  it  is  determined  in  the  same  way  for 
both  alike,  for  the  good  man  as  for  the  bad,  and  both  alike  refer 
all  their  acts  of  whatever  kind  to  it. 

And  so  whether  w^e  hold  that  it  is  not  merely  nature  that  de- 
cides what  appears'  to  each  to  be  the  end  (whatever  that  be),  but 
that  the  man  himself  contributes  something;  or  whether  we  hold 
that  the  end  is  fixed  by  nature,  but  that  virtue  is  voluntary,  inas- 
much as  the  good  man  voluntarily  takes  the  steps  to  that  end  — 
in  either  case  vice  will  be  just  as  voluntary  as  virtue;  for  self  is 
active  in  the  bad  man  just  as  much  as  in  the  good  man,  in  choos- 
ing the  particular  acts  at  least,  if  not  in  determining  the  end. 

If  then,  as  is  generally  allowed,  the  virtues  are  voluntary  (for 
we  do,  in  fact,  in  some  way  help  to  make  our  character,  and,  by 
being  of  a certain  character,  give  a certain  complexion  to  our  idea 
of  the  end) , the  vices  also  mrust  be  voluntary ; for  all  this  applies 
equally  to  them. 

We  have  thus  described  in  outlfne  the'  nature  of  the  virtues  in 
general,  and  have  said  that  they  are  forms  of  moderation  or  modes 
of  observing  the  mean,  and  that  they  are  habits  or  trained  facul- 
ties, and  that  they  show  themselves  in  the  performance  of  the 
same  acts  which  produce  them,  and  that  they  depend  on  our- 
selves and  are  voluntary,  and  that  they  follow  the  guidance  of 
right  reason.  But  our  particular  acts  are  not  voluntary  in  the 
same  sense  as  our  habits : for  we  are  masters  of  our  acts  from 
beginning  to  end  when  we  know  the  particular  circumstances; 
but  we  are  masters  of  the  beginnings  only  of  our  habits  or  char- 
acters, while  their  growth  by  gradual  steps  is  imperceptible,  like 
the  growth  of  disease.  Inasmuch,  however,  as  it  lay  with  us  to 
employ  or  not  to  employ  our  faculties  in  this  way,  the  resulting 
characters  are  on  that  account  voluntary. 


84 


ARISTOTLE 


BOOK  VI.  THE  INTELLECTUAL  VIRTUES 

1.  The  virtues  or  excellences  of  the  mind  or  soul,  it  will  be  re- 
membered, we  divided  into  two  classes,  and  called  the  one  moral 
and  the  other  intellectual.  The  moral  excellences  or  virtues  we 
have  already  discussed  in  detail;  let  us  now  examine  the  other 
class,  the  intellectual  excellences,  after  some  preliminary  remarks 
about  the  soul. 

We  said  before  that  the  soul  consists  of  two  parts,  the  rational 
and  the  irrational  part.  We  will  now  make  a similar  division  of 
the  former,  and  will  assume  that  there  are  two  rational  faculties : 
(i)  that  by  which  we  know  those  things  that  depend  on  invariable 
principles,  (2)  that  by  which  we  know  those  things  that  are  vari- 
able. For  to  generically  different  objects  must  correspond  gen- 
erically  different  faculties,  if,  as  we  hold,  it  is  in  virtue  of  some 
kind  of  likeness  or  kinship  with  their  objects  that  our  faculties 
are  able  to  know  them. 

Let  us  call  the  former  the  scientific  or  demonstrative,  the  latter 
the  calculative  or  deliberative  faculty.  For  to  deliberate  is  the 
same  as  to  calculate,  and  no  one  deliberates  about  things  that  are 
invariable.  One  division  then  of  the  rational  faculty  may  be 
fairly  called  the  calculative  faculty. 

Our  problem,  then,  is  to  find  what  each  of  these  faculties  be- 
comes in  its  full  development,  or  in  its  best  state;  for  that  will 
be  its  excellence  or  virtue. 

But  its  excellence  will  bear  direct  reference  to  its  proper  func- 
tion. 

2.  Now,  the  faculties  which  guide  us  in  action  and  in  the  ap- 
prehension* of  truth  are  three : sense,  reason,^  and  desire. 

The  first  of  these  cannot  originate  action,  as  we  see  from  the 
fact  that  brutes  have  sense  but  are  incapable  of  action. 

If  we  take  the  other  two  we  find  two  modes  of  reasoning,  viz. 
affirmation  and  negation  [or  assent  and  denial],  and  two  cor- 
responding modes  of  desire,  viz.  pursuit  and  avoidance  [or  at- 
traction and  repulsion]. 

' vovs : the  word  is  used  here  in  its  widest  sense. 


THE  NICOMACHEAN  ETHICS  85 

Now,  moral  virtue  is  a habit  or  formed  faculty  of  choice  or 
purpose,  and  purpose  is  desire  following  upon  deliberation. 

It  follows,  then,  that  if  the  purpose  is  to  be  all  it  should  be, 
both  the  calculation  or  reasoning  must  be  true  and  the  desire 
right,  and  that  the  very  same  things  must  be  assented  tc  by  the 
former  and  pursued  by  the  latter. 

This  kind  of  reasoning,  then,  and  this  sort  of  truth  has  to  do 
with  action. 

But  speculative  reasoning  that  has  to  do  neither  with  action 
nor  production  is  good  or  bad  according  as  it  is  true  or  false  sim- 
ply : for  the  function  of  the  intellect  is  always  the  apprehension 
of  truth;  but  the  function  of  the  practical  intellect  is  the  appre- 
hension of  truth  in  agreement  with  right  desire. 

Purpose,  then,  is  the  cause  — not  the  final  but  the  efficient 
cause  or  origin  — of  action,  and  the  origin  of  purpose  is  desire 
and  calculation  of  means;  so  that  purpose  necessarily  implies  on 
the  one  hand  the  faculty  of  reason  and  its  exercise,  and  on  the 
other  hand  a certain  moral  character  or  state  of  the  desires;  for 
right  action  and  the  contrary  kind  of  action  are  alike  impossible 
without  both  reasoning  and  moral  character. 

Mere  reasoning,  however,  can  never  set  anything  going,  but 
only  reasoning  about  means  to  an  end  — what  may  be  called 
practical  reasoning  (which  practical  reasoning  also  regulates 
production ; for  in  making  anything  you  always  have  an  ulterior 
object  in  view  — what  you  make  is  desired  not  as  an  end  in 
itself,  but  only  as  a means  to,  or  a condition  of,  something  else; 
but  what  you  do  is  an  end  in  itself,  for  well-doing  or  right  action 
is  the  end,  and  this  is  the  object  of  desire). 

Purpose,  then,  may  be  called  either  a reason  that  desires,  or 
a desire  that  reasons;  and  this  faculty  of  originating  action  con- 
stitutes a man. 

No  past  event  can  be  purposed ; e.  g.  no  one  purposes  to  have 
sacked  Troy;  for  no  one  deliberates  about  that  which  is  past, 
but  about  that  which  is  to  come,  and  which  is  variable:  but  the 
past  cannot  be  undone;  so  that  Agathon  is  right  when  he  says  : — 

This  thing  alone  not  God  himself  can  do  — 

To  make  undone  that  which  hath  once  been  done. 


86 


ARISTOTLE 


We  have  thus  found  that  both  divisions  of  the  reason,  or  both 
the  intellectual  faculties,  have  the  attainment  of  truth  for  their 
function ; that  developed  state  of  each,  then,  in  which  it  best  at- 
tains truth  will  be  its  excellence  or  virtue. 

3.  Let  us  describe  these  virtues  then,  starting  afresh  from  the 
beginning. 

Let  us  assume  that  the  modes  in  which  the  mind  arrives  at 
truth,  either  in  the  way  of  affirmation  or  negation,  are  five  in 
number,  viz.  art,  science,  prudence,  wisdom,  reason;^  for  con- 
ception and  opinion  may  be  erroneous. 

What  science  is  we  may  learn  from  the  following  considera- 
tions (for  we  want  a precise  account,  and  must  not  content  our- 
selves with  metaphors).  We  all  suppose  that  what  we  know  with 
scientific  knowledge  is  invariable;  but  of  that  which  is  variable 
we  cannot  say,  so  soon  as  it  is  out  of  sight,  whether  it  is  in  ex- 
istence or  not.  The  object  of  science,  then,  is  necessary.  There- 
fore it  is  eternal ; for  whatever  is  of  its  own  nature  necessary  is 
eternal:  and  what  is  eternal  neither  begins  nor  ceases  to  be. 

Further,  it  is  held  that  all  science  can  be  taught,  and  that  what 
can  be  known  in  the  way  of  science  can  be  learnt.  But  all  teach- 
ing starts  from  something  already  known,  as  we  have  explained 
in  the  Analytics;  for  it  proceeds  either  by  induction  or  by  syllo- 
gism. Now,  it  IS  induction  that  leads  the  learner  up  to  universal 
principles,  while  syllogism  starts  from  these.  There  are  princi- 
ples, then,  from  which  syllogism  starts,  which  are  not  arrived  at 
by  syllogism,  and  which,  therefore,  must  be  arrived  at  by  induc- 
tion.^ 

Science,  then,  may  be  defined  as  a habit  or  formed  faculty  of 
demonstration,  with  all  the  further  qualifications  which  are 
enumerated  in  the  Analytics.  It  is  necessary  to  add  this,  because 
it  is  only  when  the  principles  of  our  knowledge  are  accepted  and 
known  to  us  in  a particular  way,  that  we  can  properly  be  said  to 
have  scientific  knowledge;  for  unless  these  principles  are  better 


* vovs  — used  now  in  a narrower  special  sense  which  will  presently  be  ex- 
plained. 

^ Though,  as  we  see  later,  induction  can  elicit  them  from  experience  only 
because  they  are  already  latent  in  that  experience. 


THE  NICOMACHEAN  ETHICS  87 

known  to  us  than  the  conclusions  based  upon  them,  our  know- 
ledge  will  be  merely  accidental. 

This,  then,  may  be  taken  as  our  account  of  science. 

4.  That  which  is  variable  includes  that  which  man  makes  and 
that  which  man  does;  but  making  or  production  is  different  from 
doing  or  action  (here  we  adopt  the  popular  distinctions).  The 
habit  or  formed  faculty  of  acting  with  reason  or  calculation,  then, 
is  different  from  the  formed  faculty  of  producing  with  reason  or 
calculation.  And  so  the  one  cannot  include  the  other ; for  action 
is  not  production,  nor  is  production  action. 

Now,  the  builder’s  faculty  is  one  of  the  arts,  and  may  be  de- 
scribed as  a certain  formed  faculty  of  producing  with  calculation ; 
and  there  is  no  art  which  is  not  a faculty  of  this  kind,  nor  is  there 
any  faculty  of  this  kind  which  is  not  an  art : an  art,  then,  is  the 
same  thing  as  a formed  faculty  of  producing  with  correct  calcu- 
lation. 

And  every  art  is  concerned  with  bringing  something  into  being, 
i.  e,  with  contriving  or  calculating  how  to  bring  into  being  some 
one  of  those  things  that  can  either  be  or  not  be,  and  the  cause  of 
whose  production  lies  in  the  producer,  not  in  the  thing  itself 
which  is  produced.  For  art  has  not  to  do  with  that  which  is  or 
comes  into  being  of  necessity,  nor  with  the  products  of  nature; 
for  these  have  the  cause  of  their  production  in  themselves. 

Production  and  action  being  different,  art  of  course  has  to  do 
with  production,  and  not  with  action.  And,  in  a certain  sense,  its 
domain  is  the  same  as  that  of  chance  or  fortune,  as  Agathon 
says : — 

Art  waits  on  fortune,  fortune  waits  on  art. 

Art,  then,  as  we  said,  is  a certain  formed  faculty  or  habit  of 
production  with  correct  reasoning  or  calculation,  and  the  contrary 
of  this  {oT^xvl-o)  is  a habit  of  production  with  incorrect  calcula- 
tion, the  field  of  both  being  that  which  is  variable. 

5.  In  order  to  ascertain  what  prudence  is,  we  will  first  ask  who 
they  are  whom  we  call  prudent. 

It  seems  to  be  characteristic  of  a prudent  man  that  he  is  able 

^ We  may  know  truths  of  science,  but  unless  we  know  these  in  their  necessary 
connection,  we  have  not  scientific  knowledge. 


88 


ARISTOTLE 


to  deliberate  well  about  what  is  good  or  expedient  for  himself, 
not  with  a view  to  some  particular  end,  such  as  health  or  strength, 
but  with  a view  to  well-being  or  living  well. 

This  is  confirmed  by  the  fact  that  we  apply  the  name  sometimes 
to  those  who  deliberate  well  in  some  particular  field,  when  they 
calculate  well  the  means  to  some  particular  good  end,  in  matters 
that  do  not  fall  within  the  sphere  of  art.  So  we  may  say,  gen- 
erally, that  a man  who  can  deliberate  well  is  prudent. 

But  no  one  deliberates  about  that  which  cannot  be  altered,  nor 
about  that  which  it  is  not  in  his  power  to  do. 

Now  science,  we  saw,  implies  demonstration;  but  things  whose 
principles  or  causes  are  variable  do  not  admit  of  demonstration; 
for  everything  that  depends  upon  these  principles  or  causes  is  also 
variable;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  things  that  are  necessarily  de- 
termined do  not  admit  of  deliberation.  It  follows,  therefore,  that 
prudence  cannot  be  either  a science  or  an  art:  it  cannot  be  a sci- 
ence, because  the  sphere  of  action  is  that  which  is  alterable;  it 
cannot  be  an  art,  because  production  is  generically  different  from 
action. 

It  follows  from  all  this  that  prudence  is  a formed  faculty  that 
apprehends  truth  by  reasoning  or  calculation,  and  issues  in  ac- 
tion, in  the  domain  of  human  good  and  ill;  for  while  production 
has  another  end  than  itself,  this  is  not  so  with  action,  since  good 
action  or  well  doing  is  itself  the  end. 

For  this  reason  Pericles  and  men  who  resemble  him  are  con- 
sidered prudent,  because  they  are  able  to  see  what  is  good  for 
themselves  and  for  men;  and  this  we  take  to  be  the  character  of 
those  who  are  able  to  manage  a household  or  a state. 

This,  too,  is  tha  reason  why  we  call  temperance  a-wc^poc-vvr],  sig- 
nifying thereby  that  it  is  the  virtue  which  preserves  prudence. 
But  what  temperance  preserves  is  '"his  particular  kind  of  judg- 
ment. For  it  is  not  any  kind  of  judgment  that  is  destroyed  or  per- 
verted by  the  presentation  of  pleasant  or  painful  objects  (not  such 
a judgment,  for  instance,  as  that  the  angles  of  a triangle  are  equal 
to  two  right  angles),  but  only  judgments  about  matters  of  prac- 
tice. For  the  principles  of  practice  [or  the  causes  which  originate 
action]  are  the  ends  for  the  sake  of  which  acts  are  done;  but  when 


THE  NICOMACHEAN  ETHICS 


89 

a man  is  corrupted  by  pleasure  or  pain,  he  straightway  loses  sight 
of  the  principle,  and  no  longer  sees  that  this  is  the  end  for  the  sake 
of  which,  and  as  a means  to  which,  each  particular  act  should 
be  chosen  and  done;  for  vice  is  apt  to  obliterate  the  principle. 

Our  conclusion  then  is  that  prudence  is  a formed  faculty  which 
apprehends  truth  by  reasoning  or  calculation,  and  issues  in  ac- 
tion, in  the  field  of  human  good. 

Moreover,  art  [or  the  artistic  faculty]  has  its  excellence  [or 
perfect  development]  in  something  other  than  itself,  but  this  is 
not  so  with  prudence.  Again,  in  the  domain  of  art  voluntary 
error  is  not  so  bad  as  involuntary,  but  it  is  worse  in  the  case  of 
prudence,  as  it  is  in  the  case  of  all  the  virtues  or  excellences.  It 
is  plain,  then,  that  prudence  is  a virtue  or  excellence,  and  not 
an  art. 

And  the  rational  parts  of  the  soul  or  the  intellectual  faculties 
being  two  in  number,  prudence  will  be  the  virtue  of  the  second, 
[the  calculative  part  or]  the  faculty  of  opinion ; for  opinion  deals 
with  that  which  is  variable,  and  so  does  prudence. 

But  it  is  something  more  than  “a  formed  faculty  of  apprehend- 
ing truth  by  reasoning  or  calculation;”  as  we  see  from  the  fact 
that  such  a faculty  may  be  lost,  but  prudence,  once  acquired,  can 
never  be  lost. 

6.  Science  is  a mode  of  judging  that  deals  with  universal  and 
necessary  truths;  but  truths  that  can  be  demonstrated  depend 
upon  principles,  and  (since  science  proceeds  by  demonstrative 
reasoning)  every  science  has  its  principles.  The  principles,  then, 
on  which  the  truths  of  science  depend  cannot  fall  within  the  pro- 
vince of  science,  nor  yet  of  art  or  prudence ; for  a scientific  truth 
is  one  that  can  be  demonstrated,  but  art  and  prudence  have  to  do 
with  that  which  is  variable. 

Nor  can  they  fall  within  the  province  of  wisdom;  for  it  is  char- 
acteristic of  the  wise  man  to  have  a demonstrative  knowledge  of 
certain  things. 

But  the  habits  of  mind  or  formed  faculties  by  which  we  ap- 
prehend truth  without  any  mixture  of  error,  whether  in  the  do- 
main of  things  invariable  or  in  the  domain  of  things  variable, 
are  science,  prudence,  wisdom,  and  reason.  If  then  no  one  of  the 


90 


ARISTOTLE 


first  three  (prudence,  science,  wisdom)  can  be  the  faculty  which 
apprehends  these  principles,  the  only  possible  conclusion  is  that 
they  are  apprehended  by  reason. 

7.  The  term  o-o<^t'u  (wisdom)'  is  sometimes  applied  in  the  domain 
of  the  arts  to  those  who  are  consummate  masters  of  their  art;  e.  g. 
it  is  applied  to  Phidias  as  a master  of  sculpture,  and  to  Polyclitus 
for  his  skill  in  portrait-statues;  and  in  this  application  it  means 
nothing  else  than  excellence  of  art  or  perfect  development  of  the 
artistic  faculty. 

But  there  are  also  men  who  are  considered  wise,  not  in  part 
nor  in  any  particular  thing  (as  Homer  says  in  the  Margites,  — 

Him  the  gods  gave  no  skill  with  spade  or  plough, 

Nor  made  him  wise  in  aught), 

but  generally  wise.  In  this  general  sense,  then,  wisdom  plainly 
will  be  the  most  perfect  of  the  sciences. 

The  wise  man,  then,  must  not  only  know  what  follows  from 
the  principles  of  knowledge,  but  also  know  the  truth  about  those 
principles.  Wisdom,  therefore,  will  be  the  union  of  [intuitive] 
reason  with  [demonstrative]  scientific  knowledge,  or  scientific 
knowledge  of  the  noblest  objects  with  its  crowning  perfection,  so 
to  speak,  added  to  it.  For  it  would  be  absurd  to  suppose  that 
the  political  faculty  or  prudence  is  the  highest  of  our  faculties, 
unless  indeed  man  is  the  best  of  all  things  in  the  universe. 

Now,  as  the  terms  wholesome  and  good  mean  one  thing  in  the 
case  of  men  and  another  in  the  case  of  fishes,  while  white  and 
straight  always  have  the  same  meaning,  we  must  all  allow  that 
wise  means  one  thing  always,  while  prudent  means  different 
things;  for  we  should  all  say  that  those  who  are  clear-sighted  in 
their  own  affairs  are  prudent,  and  deem  them  fit  to  be  entrusted 
with  those  affairs.  (And  for  this  reason  we  sometimes  apply  the 
term  prudent  even  to  animals,  when  they  show  a faculty  of  fore- 
sight in  what  concerns  their  own  life.) 

Moreover,  it  is  plain  that  wisdom  cannot  be  the  same  as  states- 
manship. If  we  apply  the  term  wisdom  to  knowledge  of  wTat  is 
advantageous  to  ourselves,  there  will  be  many  kinds  of  wisdom; 

* Of  course  we  do  not  use  “ wisdom  ” in  this  sense. 


THE  NICOMACHEAN  ETHICS 


91 


for  the  knowledge  of  what  is  good  will  not  be  one  and  the  same 
for  all  animals,  but  different  for  each  species.  It  can  no  more  be 
one  than  the  art  of  healing  can  be  one  and  the  same  for  all  kinds 
of  living  things. 

Man  may  be  superior  to  all  other  animals,  but  that  will  not 
make  any  difference  here;  for  there  are  other  things  of  a far 
diviner  nature  than  man,  as  — to  take  the  most  conspicuous 
instance  — the  heavenly  bodies. 

It  is  plain,  then,  after  what  we  have  said,  that  wisdom  is  the 
union  of  scientific  [or  demonstrative]  knowledge  and  [intuitive] 
reason  about  objects  of  the  noblest  nature. 

And  on  this  account  people  call  Anaxagoras  and  Thales  and 
men  of  that  sort  wise,  but  not  prudent,  seeing  them  to  be  ignorant 
of  their  own  advantage;  and  say  that  their  knowledge  is  some- 
thing out  of  the  common,  wonderful,  hard  of  attainment,  nay 
superhuman,  but  useless,  since  it  is  no  human  good  that  they 
seek. 

Prudence,  on  the  other  hand,  deals  with  human  affairs,  and 
with  matters  that  admit  of  deliberation:  for  the  prudent  man’s 
special  function,  as  we  conceive  it,  is  to  deliberate  well;  but-no 
one  deliberates  about  what  is  invariable,  or  about  matters  in 
which  there  is  not  some  end,  in  the  sense  of  some  realizable  good. 
But  a man  is  said  to  deliberate  well  (without  any  qualifying 
epithet)  when  he  is  able,  by  a process  of  reasoning  or  calculation, 
to  arrive  at  what  is  best  for  man  in  matters  of  practice. 

Prudence,  moreover,  does  not  deal  in  general  propositions 
only,  but  implies  knowledge  of  particular  facts  also;  for  it  issues 
in  action,  and  the  field  of  action  is  the  field  of  particulars. 

This  is  the  reason  why  some  men  that  lack  [scientific]  know- 
ledge are  more  efficient  in  practice  than  others  that  have  it,  espe- 
cially men  of  wide  experience;  for  if  you  know  that  light  meat  is 
digestible  and  wholesome,  but  do  not  know  what  meats  are  light, 
you  will  not  be  able  to  cure  people  so  well  as  a man  who  only 
knows  that  chicken  is  light  and  wholesome. 

But  prudence  is  concerned  with  practice;  so  that  it  needs  know- 
ledge both  of  general  truths  and  of  particular  facts,  but  more 
especially  the  latter. 


ZENO 

(356-264) 


From  DIOGENES  LAERTIUS’  LIVES 
AND  OPINIONS  OF  EMINENT 
PHILOSOPHERS 

Translated  from  the  Greek  * by 
CHARLES  D.  YONGE 

BOOK  VII.  THE  ETHICS  OF  THE  STOICS 

LI.  The  ethical  part  of  philosophy  they  [the  Stoics]  divide  into 
the  topic  of  inclination,  the  topic  of  good  and  bad,  the  topic  of  the 
passions,  the  topic  of  virtue,  the  topic  of  the  chief  good,  and  of 
primary  estimation,  and  of  actions;  the  topic  of  what  things  are 
becoming,  and  of  exhortation  and  dissuasion.  And  this  division 
is  the  one  laid  down  by  Chrysippus,  and  Archedemus,  and  Zeno 
of  Tarsus,  and  Apollodorus,  and  Diogenes,  and  Antipater,  and 
Posidonius.  For  Zeno  of  Cittium  and  Cleanthes  have,  as  being 
more  ancient  they  were  likely  to,  adopted  a more  simple  method 
of  treating  these  subjects.  But  these  men  made  a division  into 
logic  and  natural  philosophy. 

LII.  They  say  that  the  first  inclination  which  an  animal  has 
is  to  protect  itself,  as  nature  brings  herself  to  take  an  interest  in  it 
from  the  beginning,  as  Chrysippus  affirms  in  the  first  book  of  his 
treatise  on  Ends;  where  he  says,  that  the  first  and  dearest  object 
to  every  animal  is  its  own  existence,  and  its  consciousness  of  that 
existence.  For  that  it  is  not  natural  for  any  animal  to  be  alienated 
from  itself,  or  even  to  be  brought  into  such  a state  as  to  be  indif- 
ferent to  itself,  being  neither  alienated  from  nor  interested  in  it- 
self. It  remains,  therefore,  that  v/e  must  assert  that  nature  has 
bound  the  animal  to  itself  by  the  greatest  unanimity  and  affec- 

* From  Aioyevovs  Aaeprlov  -irepl  filov,  Zaypaucv,  koX  a.Tro’pBeypdTwv  twv  tv  <fnKo- 
aoipia  fvSoKi/xTjiTdvTwv,  Rifinla,  dexa.  Reprinted  from  Diogenes  Laertius'  Lwes  and 
Opinions  of  Eminent  Philosophers,  translated  by  C.  D.  Yonge.  London,  1853. 


DIOGENES  LAERTIUS’  LIVES 


93 


tion ; for  by  that  means  it  repels  all  that  is  injurious,  and  attracts 
all  that  is  akin  to  it  and  desirable.  But  as  for  what  some  people 
say,  that  the  first  inclination  of  animals  is  to  pleasure,  they  say 
what  is  false.  For  they  say  that  pleasure,  if  there  be  any  such 
thing  at  all,  is  an  accessory  only,  which  nature,  having  sought 
it  out  by  itself,  as  well  as  those  things  which  are  adapted  to  its 
constitution,  receives  incidentally  in  the  same  manner  as  animals 
are  pleased,  and  plants  made  to  flourish. 

Moreover,  say  they,  nature  makes  no  difference  between  ani- 
mals and  plants,  when  she  regulates  them  so  as  to  leave  them 
without  voluntary  motion  or  sense;  and  some  things  too  take 
place  in  ourselves  in  the  same  manner  as  in  plants.  But,  as  in- 
clination in  animals  tends  chiefly  to  the  point  of  making  them 
pursue  what  is  appropriate  to  them,  we  may  say  that  their  incli- 
nations are  regulated  by  nature.  And  as  reason  is  given  to  rational 
animals  according  to  a more  perfect  principle,  it  follows,  that  to 
live  correctly  according  to  reason,  is  properly  predicated  of  those 
who  live  according  to  nature.  For  nature  is  as  it  were  the  artist 
who  produces  the  inclination. 

LIU.  On  which  account  Zeno  was  the  first  writer  who,  in  his 
treatise  on  the  Nature  of  Man,  said  that  the  chief  good  was  con- 
fessedly to  live  according  to  nature;  which  is  to  live  according  to 
virtue,  for  nature  leads  us  to  this  point.  And  in  like  manner 
Cleanthes  speaks  in  his  treatise  on  Pleasure,  and  so  do  Posido- 
nius and  Hecaton  in  their  essays  on  Ends  as  the  Chief  Good. 
Amd  again,  to  live  according  to  virtue  is  the  same  thing  as  living 
according  to  one’s  experience  of  these  things  which  happen 
by  nature;  as  Chrysippus  explains  it  in  the  first  book  of  his 
treatise  on  the  Chief  Good.  For  our  individual  natures  are 
all  parts  of  universal  nature;  on  which  account  the  chief  good 
is  to  live  in  a manner  corresponding  to  nature,  and  that  means 
corresponding  to  one’s  own  nature  and  to  universal  nature; 
doing  none  of  those  things  which  the  common  law  of  mankind 
is  in  the  habit  of  forbidding ; and  that  common  law  is  identical 
with  that  right  reason  which  pervades  everything,  being  the 
same  with  Jupiter,  who  is  the  regulator  and  chief  manager  of 
all  existing  things. 


94 


ZENO 


Again,  this  very  thing  is  the  virtue  of  the  happy  man  and  the 
perfect  happiness  of  life  when  everything  is  done  according  to  a 
harmony  with  the  genius  of  each  individual  with  reference  to  the 
will  of  the  universal  governor  and  manager  of  all  things.  Dio- 
genes, accordingly,  says  expressly  that  the  chief  good  is  to  act 
according  to  sound  reason  in  our  selection  of  things  according 
to  our  nature.  And  Archedemus  defines  it  to  be  living  in  the  dis- 
charge of  all  becoming  duties.  Chrysippus  again  understands 
that  the  nature,  in  a manner  corresponding  to  which  we  ought  to 
live,  is  both  the  common  nature,  and  also  human  nature  in  par- 
ticular ; but  Cleanthes  will  not  admit  of  any  other  nature  than  the 
common  one  alone,  as  that  in  a manner  corresponding  to  which 
people  ought  to  live;  and  repudiates  all  mention  of  a particular  na- 
ture. And  he  asserts  that  virtue  is  a disposition  of  the  mind  always 
consistent  and  always  harmonious;  that  one  ought  to  seek  it  out 
for  its  own  sake,  without  being  influenced  by  fear  or  hope  or  any 
external  influence.  Moreover,  that  it  is  in  it  that  happiness  con- 
sists, as  producing  in  the  soul  the  harmony  of  a life  always  con- 
sistent with  itself;  and  that  if  a rational  animal  goes  the  wrong 
way,  it  is  because  it  allows  itself  to  be  misled  by  the  deceitful  ap- 
pearances of  exterior  things,  or  perhaps  by  the  instigation  of  those 
who  surround  it;  for  nature  herself  never  gives  us  any  but  good 
inclinations. 

LIV.  Now  virtue  is,  to  speak  generally,  a perfection  in  every- 
thing, as  in  the  case  of  a statue;  whether  it  is  invisible  as  good 
health,  or  speculative  as  prudence.  For  Hecaton  says,  in  the  first 
book  of  his  treatise  on  Virtues,  that  the  scientific  and  speculative 
virtues  are  those  which  have  a constitution  arising  from  specu- 
lation and  study,  as,  for  instance,  prudence  and  justice;  and 
that  those  which  are  not  speculative  are  those  which  are  gen- 
erally viewed  in  their  extension  as  a practical  result  or  effect  of  the 
former;  such  for  instance,  as  health  and  strength.  Accordingly, 
temperance  is  one  of  the  speculative  virtues,  and  it  happens  that 
good  health  usually  follows  it,  and  is  marshalled  as  it  were  beside 
it;  in  the  same  way  as  strength  follows  the  proper  structure  of  an 
arch.  — And  the  unspeculative  virtues  derive  their  name  from 
the  fact  of  their  not  proceeding  from  any  acquiescence  reflected 


DIOGENES  LAERTIUS’  LIVES 


95 


by  intelligence ; but  they  are  derived  from  others,  are  only  acces- 
sories, and  are  found  even  in  worthless  people,  as  in  the  case  of 
good  health,  or  courage.  And  Posidonius,  in  the  first  book  of  his 
treaties  on  Ethics,  says  that  the  great  proof  of  the  reality  of  virtue 
is  that  Socrates,  and  Diogenes,  and  Antisthenes  made  great  im- 
provement; and  the  great  proof  of  the  reality  of  vice  may  be  found 
in  the  fact  of  its  being  opposed  to  virtue. 

Again,  Chrysippus,  in  the  first  book  of  his  treatise  on  the  Chief 
Good,  and  Cleanthes,  and  also  Posidonius  in  his  Exhortations, 
and  Hecaton,  all  agree  that  virtue  may  be  taught.  And  that  they 
are  right,  and  that  it  may  be  taught,  is  plain  from  men  becoming 
good  after  having  been  bad.  On  this  account  Panaetius  teaches 
that  there  are  two  virtues,  one  speculative  and  the  other  practical ; 
but  others  make  three  kinds,  the  logical,  the  natural,  and  the 
ethical.  Posidonius  divides  virtue- into  four  divisions;  and  Clean- 
thes, Chrysippus,  and  Antipater  make  the  divisions  more  numer- 
ous still;  for  Apollophanes  asserts  that  there  is  but  one  virtue, 
namely,  prudence. 

Among  the  virtues  some  are  primitive  and  some  are  derived. 
The  primitive  ones  are  prudence,  manly  courage,  justice,  and 
temperance.  And  subordinate  to  these,  as  a kind  of  species  con- 
tained in  them,  are  magnanimity,  continence,  endurance,  pre- 
sence of  mind,  wisdom  in  council.  And  the  Stoics  define  prudence 
as  a knowledge  of  what  is  good,  and  bad,  and  indifferent;  justice 
as  a knowledge  of  what  ought  to  be  chosen,  what  ought  to  be 
avoided,  and  what  is  indifferent;  magnanimity  as  a knowledge 
of  engendering  a lofty  habit,  superior  to  all  such  accidents  as  hap- 
pen to  all  men  indifferently,  whether  they  be  good  or  bad ; con- 
tinence they  consider  a disposition  which  never  abandons  right 
reason,  or  a habit  which  never  yields  to  pleasure;  endurance  they 
call  a knowledge  or  habit  by  which  we  understand  what  we  ought 
to  endure,  what  we  ought  not,  and  what  is  indifferent ; presence 
of  mind  they  define  as  a habit  which  is  prompt  at  finding  out  what 
is  suitable  on  a sudden  emergency;  and  wisdom  in  counsel  they 
think  a knowledge  which  leads  us  to  judge  what  we  are  to  do,  and 
how  we  are  to  do  it,  in  order  to  act  becomingly.  And  analogously, 
of  vices  too  there  are  some  which  are  primary,  and  some  which 


ZENO 


96 

are  subordinate;  as,  for  instance,  folly,  and  cowardice,  and  injus- 
tice, and  intemperance  are  among  the  primary  vices;  inconti- 
nence, slowness,  and  folly  in  counsel  among  the  subordinate  ones. 
And  the  vices  are  ignorance  of  those  things  of  which  the  virtues 
are  the  knowledge. 

LV.  Good,  looked  at  in  a general  way,  is  some  advantage,  with 
the  more  particular  distinction,  being  partly  what  is  actually  use- 
ful, partly  what  is  not  contrary  to  utility.  On  which  account  vir- 
tue itself,  and  the  good  which  partakes  of  virtue  are  spoken  of  in 
a threefold  view  of  the  subject.  First,  as  to  what  kind  of  good  it 
is,  and  from  what  it  ensues;  as,  for  instance,  in  an  action  done 
according  to  virtue.  Secondly,  as  to  the  agent,  in  the  case  of  a 
good  man  who  partakes  of  virtue.  ‘ . . . 

At  another  time,  they  define  the  good  in  a peculiar  manner,  as 
being  what  is  perfect  according  to  the  nature  of  a rational  being 
as  rational  being.  And,  secondly,  they  say  'that  it  is  conformity 
to  virtue,  so  that  all  actions  which  partake  of  virtue,  and  all  good 
men,  are  themselves  in  some  sense  the  good.  And  in  the  third 
place,  they  speak  of  its  accessories,  joy,  and  mirth,  and  things  of 
that  kind.  In  the  same  manner  they  speak  of  vices,  which  they 
divide  into  folly,  cowardice,  injustice,  and  things  of  that  kind. 
And  they  consider  that  those  things  which  partake  of  vices,  and 
actions  done  according  to  vice,  and  bad  men,  are  themselves  in 
some  sense  the  evil ; and  its  accessories  are  despondency,  and  mel- 
ancholy, and  other  things  of  that  kind. 

LVI.  Again,  of  goods,  some  have  reference  to  the  mind,  and 
some  are  external ; and  some  neither  have  reference  to  the  mind, 
nor  are  external.  The  goods  having  reference  to  the  mind  are  vir- 
tues, and  actions  according  to  the  virtues.  The  external  goods 
are  the  having  a virtuous  country,  a virtuous  friend,  and  the  hap- 
piness of  one’s  country  and  friend.  And  those  which  are  not  ex- 
ternal, and  which  have  no  reference  to  the  mind,  are  such  as  a 
man’s  being  virtuous  and  happy  to  himself.  And  reciprocally, 
of  evils,  some  have  reference  to  the  mind,  such  as  the  vices  and 
actions  according  to  them;  some  are  external,  such  as  having  a 
foolish  country,  or  a foolish  friend,  or  one’s  country  or  one’s 

^ The  third  point  of  view  is  wanting. 


DIOGENES  LAERTIUS’  LIVES 


97 


friend  being  unhappy.  And  those  evils  which  are  not  external, 
and  which  have  no  reference  to  the  mind,  are  such  as  a man’s 
being  worthless  and  unhappy  to  himself. 

LVII.  Again,  of  goods,  some  are  final,  some  are  efficient,  and 
some  are  both  final  and  efficient.  For  instance,  a friend,  and  the 
services  done  by  him  to  one,  are  efficient  goods;  but  courage,  and 
prudence,  and  liberty,  and  delight,  and  mirth,  and  freedom  from 
pain,  and  all  kinds  of  actions  done  according  to  virtue,  are  final 
goods.  There  are  too,  as  I said  before,  some  goods  which  are  both 
efficient  and  final;  for  inasmuch  as  they  produce  perfect  happi- 
ness they  are  efficient,  and  inasmuch  as  they  complete  it  by  being 
themselves  parts  of  it,  they  are  final.  And  in  the  same  way,  of 
evils,  some  are  final,  and  some  efficient,  and  some  partake  of  both 
natures.  For  instance,  an  enemy  and  the  injuries  done  to  one  by 
him,  are  efficient  evils ; fear,  meanness  of  condition,  slavery,  want 
of  delight,  depression  of  spirits,  excessive  grief,  and  all  actions 
done  according  to  vice,  are  final  evils ; and  some  partake  of  both 
characters,  since,  inasmuch  as  they  produce  perfect  unhappiness, 
they  are  efficient ; and  inasmuch  as  they  complete  it  in  such  a way 
as  to  become  parts  of  it,  they  are  final. 

LVIII.  Again,  of  the  goods  which  have  reference  to  the  mind, 
some  are  habits,  some  are  dispositions,  and  some  are  neither  hab- 
its nor  dispositions.  Dispositions  are  virtues,  habits  are  practices, 
and  those  which  are  neither  habits  nor  dispositions  are  energies. 
And,  speaking  generally,  the  following  may  be  called  mixed 
goods:  happiness  in  one’s  children,  and  a happy  old  age.  But 
knowledge  is  a pure  good.  And  some  goods  are  continually  pre- 
sent, such  as  virtue;  and  some  are  not  always  present,  as  joy,  or 
taking  a walk. 

LIX.  But  every  good  is  expedient,  and  necessary,  and  profit- 
able, and  useful,  and  serviceable,  and  beautiful,  and  advanta- 
geous, and  eligible,  and  just.  Expedient,  inasmuch  as  it  brings  us 
things,  which  by  their  happening  to  us  do  us  good;  necessary, 
inasmuch  as  it  assists  us  in  what  we  have  need  to  be  assisted; 
profitable,  inasmuch  as  it  repays  all  the  care  that  is  expended  on 
it,  and  makes  a return  with  interest  to  our  great  advantage ; use- 
ful, Inasmuch  as  it  supplies  us  with  what  is  of  utility;  serviceable, 


ZENO 


98 

because  it  does  us  service  which  is  much  praised;  beautiful,  be- 
cause it  is  in  accurate  proportion  to  the  need  we  have  of  it,  and 
to  the  service  it  does ; advantageous,  inasmuch  as  it  is  of  such  a 
character  as  to  confer  advantage  on  us;  eligible,  because  it  is 
such  that  we  may  rationally  choose  it;  and  just,  because  it  is  in 
accordance  with  law,  and  is  an  efficient  cause  of  union. 

And  they  call  the  honourable  the  perfect  good,  because  it  has 
naturally  all  the  numbers  which  are  required  by  nature,  and 
because  it  discloses  a perfect  harmony.  Now,  the  species  of  this 
perfect  good  are  four  in  number:  justice,  manly  courage,  tem- 
perance, and  knowledge ; for  in  these  goods  all  beautiful  actions 
have  their  accomplishment.  And  analogously,  there  are  also 
four  species  of  the  disgraceful : injustice,  and  cowardice,  and 
intemperance,  and  folly.  And  the  honourable  is  predicated  in 
one  sense,  as  making  those  who  are  possessed  of  it  worthy  of 
all  praise;  and  in  a second  sense,  it  is  used  of  what  is  well  adapted 
by  nature  for  its  proper  work;  and  in  another  sense  when  it  ex- 
presses that  which  adorns  a man,  as  when  we  say  that  the  wise 
man  alone  is  gcod  and  honourable. 

The  Stoics  also  say,  that  the  beautiful  is  the  only  good,  as 
Hecaton  says,  in  the  third  book  of  his  treatise  on  Goods,  and 
Chrysippus  asserts  the  same  principle  in  his  essays  on  the  Beau- 
tiful. And  they  say  that  this  is  virtue,  and  that  which  partakes 
of  virtue ; and  this  assertion  is  equal  to  the  other,  that  everything 
good  is  beautiful,  and  that  the  good  is  an  equivalent  term  to  the 
beautiful,  inasmuch  as  the  one  thing  is  exactly  equal  to  the  other. 
For  since  it  is  good,  it  is  beautiful;  and  it  is  beautiful,  therefore, 
it  is  good. 

LX.  But  it  seems  that  all  goods  are  equal,  and  that  every  good 
is  to  be  desired  in  the  highest  degree,  and  that  it  admits  of  no  re- 
laxation, and  of  no  extension.  Moreover,  they  divide  all  existing 
things  into  good,  bad,  and  indifferent.  The  good  are  the  virtues, 
prudence,  justice,  manly  courage,  temperance,  and  the  rest  of 
the  like  qualities.  The  bad  are  the  contraries,  folly,  injustice,  and 
the  like.  Those  are  indifferent  which  are  neither  beneficial  nor 
injurious,  such  as  life,  health,  pleasure,  beauty,  strength,  riches, 
a good  reputation,  nobility  of  birth ; and  their  contraries,  death, 


DIOGENES  LAERTIUS’  LIVES 


99 


disease,  labour,  disgrace,  weakness,  poverty,  a bad  reputation, 
baseness  of  birth,  and  the  like;  as  Hecaton  lays  it  down  in  the 
seventh  book  of  his  treatise  on  the  Chief  Good;  and  he  is  fol- 
lowed by  Apollodorus,  in  his  Ethics,  and  by  Chrysippus.  For 
they  affirm  that  those  things  are  not  good  but  indifferent,  though 
perhaps  a little  nearer  to  one  species  than  to  the  other. 

For,  as  it  is  the  property  of  heat  to  warm  and  not  to  chill  one, 
so  it  is  the  property  of  the  good  to  benefit  and  not  to  injure  one. 
Now,  wealth  and  good  health  cannot  be  said  to  benefit  any 
more  than  to  injure  any  one:  therefore,  neither  wealth  nor  good 
health  are  goods.  Again,  they  say  that  that  thing  is  not  good 
which  it  is  possible  to  use  both  well  and  ill.  But  it  is  possible  to 
make  either  a good  or  a bad  use  of  wealth,  or  of  health ; therefore, 
wealth  and  good  health  are  not  goods.  Posidonius,  however, 
affirms  that  these  things  do  come  under  the  head  of  goods.  But 
Hecaton,  in  the  nineteenth  book  of  his  treatise  on  Goods,  and 
Chrysippus,  in  his  treatises  on  Pleasure,  both  deny  that  pleasure 
is  a good.  For  they  say  that  there  are  disgraceful  pleasures,  and 
that  nothing  disgraceful  is  good.  And  that  to  benefit  a person  is 
to  move  him  or  to  keep  him  according  to  virtue,  but  to  injure  him 
is  to  move  him  or  to  keep  him  according  to  vice. 

They  also  assert  that  things  indifferent  are  thus  spoken  of  in 
a twofold  manner;  firstly,  those  things  are  called  so,  which  have 
no  influence  in  producing  either  happiness  or  unhappiness,  such 
for  instance,  as  riches,  glory,  health,  strength,  and  the  like;  for 
it  is  possible  for  a man  to  be  happy  without  any  of  these  things ; 
and  also,  it  is  upon  the  nature  of  the  use  that  is  made  of  them, 
that  happiness  or  unhappiness  depends.  In  another  sense,  those 
things  are  called  indifferent,  v/hich  do  not  excite  any  inclination 
or  aversion,  as  for  instance,  the  fact  of  a man’s  having  an  odd  or 
an  even  number  of  hairs  on  his  head,  or  his  putting  out  or  draw- 
ing back  his  finger ; for  it  is  not  in  this  sense  that  the  things  pre- 
viously mentioned  are  called  indifferent,  for  they  do  excite  in- 
clination or  aversion.  On  which  account  some  of  them  are  chosen, 
though  there  is  equal  reason  for  preferring  or  shunning  all  the 
others. 

LXI.  Again,  of  things  indifferent,  they  call  some  preferred 


100 


ZENO 


{TrporjyfjLa'a) , and  Others  rejected  (dTroTrpoT^y/xeVa).  Those  are  pre- 
ferred, which  have  some  proper  value  {a^idv),  and  those  are 
rejected,  which  have  no  value  at  all  (dTra^^tdi'  exovra).  And  by 
the  term  proper  value,  they  mean  that  quality  of  things,  which 
causes  them  to  concur  in  producing  a well-regulated  life;  and  in 
this  sense,  every  good  has  a proper  value.  Again,  they  say  that 
a thing  has  value,  when  in  some  point  of  view,  it  has  a sort  of 
intermediate  power  of  aiding  us  to  live  conformably  to  nature; 
and  under  this  class,  we  may  range  riches  or  good  health,  if  they 
give  any  assistance  to  natural  life.  Again,  value  is  predicated  of 
the  price  which  one  gives  for  the  attainment  of  an  object,  which 
some  one  who  has  experience  of  the  object  sought  fixes  as  its 
fair  price ; as  if  we  were  to  say,  for  instance,  that  as  some  wheat 
was  to  be  exchanged  for  barley,  with  a mule  being  thrown  in  to 
make  up  the  difference.  Those  goods  then  are  preferred,  which 
have  a value,  as  in  the  case  of  the  mental  goods,  ability,  skill, 
improvement,  and  the  like;  and  in  the  case  of  the  corporeal 
goods,  life,  health,  strength,  a good  constitution,  soundness, 
beauty;  and  in  the  case  of  external  goods,  riches,  glory,  nobility 
of  birth,  and  the  like. 

Rejected  things  are,  in  the  case  of  qualities  of  the  mind, 
stupidity,  unskilfulness,  and  the  like;  in  the  case  of  circum- 
stances affecting  the  body,  death,  disease,  weakness,  a bad  con- 
stitution, mutilation,  disgrace,  and  the  like;  in  the  case  of  external 
circumstances,  poverty,  want  of  reputation,  ignoble  birth,  and 
the  like.  But  those  qualities  and  circumstances  which  are  indif- 
ferent, are  neither  preferred  nor  rejected.  Again,  of  things  pre- 
ferred, some  are  preferred  for  their  own  sakes,  some  for  the  sake 
of  other  things,  and  some  partly  for  their  own  sakes  and  partly 
for  that  of  other  things.  Those  which  are  preferred  for  their  own 
sakes,  are  ability,  improvement,  and  the  like;  those  which  are 
preferred  for  the  sake  of  other  things,  are  wealth,  nobility  of  birth, 
and  the  like;  those  which  are  preferred  partly  for  their  own  sake, 
and  partly  for  that  of  something  else,  are  strength,  vigour  of  the 
senses,  universal  soundness,  and  the  like;  for  they  are  preferred, 
for  their  own  sakes,  inasmuch  as  they  are  in  accordance  with 
nature,  and  for  the  sake  of  something  else,  inasmuch  as  they  are 


DIOGENES  LAERTIUS’  LIVES 


lOI 


productive  of  no  small  number  of  advantages;  and  the  same  is 
the  case  in  the  inverse  ratio,  with  those  things  which  are  rejected. 

LXII.  Again,  they  say  that  that  is  duty,  which  is  preferred, 
and  which  contains  in  itself  reasonable  arguments  why  we  should 
prefer  it;  as  for  instance,  its  corresponding  to  the  nature  of  life 
itself.  Also  this  argument  extends  to  plants  and  animals,  for  even 
their  nature  is  Subject  to  the  obligation  of  certain  duties.  And 
duty  (to  KaOrjKov)  had  this  name  given  to  it  by  Zeno,  in  the  first 
instance,  its  appellation  being  derived  from  its  coming  to,  or 
according  to  some  people,  diro  tov  Kara  nva^  rjKuv’,  and  its  effect 
is  something  kindred  to  the  preparations  made  by  nature. 
Now  of  the  things  done  according  to  inclination,  some  are  duties, 
and  some  are  contrary  to  duty;  and  some  are  neither  duties  nor 
contrary  to  duty.  Those  are  duties,  which  reason  selects  to  do, 
as  for  instance,  to  honour  one’s  parents,  one’s  brothers,  one’s 
country,  to  gratify  one’s  friends.  Those  actions  are  contrary  to 
duty,  which  reason  does  not  choose;  as  for  instance,  to  neglect 
one’s  parents,  to  be  indifferent  to  one’s  brothers,  to  shirk  assisting 
one’s  friends,  to  be  careless  about  the  welfare  of  one’s  country, 
and  so  on.  Those  are  neither  duties,  nor  contrary  to  duty,  which 
reason  neither  selects  to  do,  nor,  on  the  other  hand,  repudiates; 
such  actions,  for  instance,  as  to  pick  up  straw,  to  hold  a pen,  or  a 
comb,  or  things  of  that  sort. 

Again,  there  are  some  duties  which  do  not  depend  on  circum- 
stances, and  some  which  do.  These  do  not  depend  on  circum- 
stances, to  take  care  of  one’s  health,  and  of  the  sound  state  of 
one’s  senses,  and  the  like.  Those  which  do  depend  on  circum- 
stances, are  the  mutilation  of  one’s  members,  the  sacrificing  of 
one’s  property,  and  so  on.  And  the  case  of  those  actions  which 
are  contrary  to  duty,  is  similar.  Again,  of  duties,  some  are  always 
duties,  and  some  are  not  always  such.  What  is  always  a duty,  is 
to  live  in  accordance  with  virtue;  but  to  ask  questions,  to  give 
answers,  to  walk,  and  the  like,  are  not  always  duties.  And  the 
same  statement  holds  good  with  respect  to  acts  contrary  to  duty. 

There  is  also  a class  of  intermediate  duties,  such  as  the  duty 
of  boys  obeying  their  masters. 

LXIII.  The  Stoics  also  say  that  the  mind  is  divisible  into  eight 


102 


ZENO 


parts;  for  that  the  five  organs  of  sensation,  and  the  vocal  power, 
and  the  intellectual  power  which  is  the  mind  itself,  and  the  gen- 
erative power  are  all  parts  of  the  mind.  But  by  error,  there  is 
produced  a perversion  which  operates  on  the  intellect,  from 
which  many  perturbations  arise,  and  many  causes  of  inconstancy. 
And  all  perturbation  is  itself,  according  to  Zeno,  a movement  of 
the  mind,  or  superfluous  inclination,  which  is  irrational,  and  con- 
trary to  nature.  Moreover,  of  the  superior  class  of  perturbations, 
as  Hecaton  says,  in  the  second  book  of  his  treatise  on  the  Pas- 
sions, and  as  Zeno  also  says  in  his  work  on  the  Passions,  there  are 
four  kinds,  grief,  fear,  desire,  and  pleasure.  And  they  consider 
that  these  perturbations  are  judgments,  as  Chrysippus  contends 
in  his  work  on  the  Passions ; for  covetousness  is  an  opinion  that 
money  is  a beautiful  object ; and  in  like  manner  drunkenness  and 
intemperance,  and  other  things  of  the  sort,  are  judgments.  And 
grief  they  define  to  be  an  irrational  contraction  of  the  mind, 
and  divide  it  into  the  following  species,  pity,  envy,  emulation, 
jealousy,  pain,  perturbation,  sorrow,  anguish,  confusion.  Pity 
is  a grief  over  some  one,  on  the  ground  of  his  being  in  undeserved 
distress.  Envy  is  a grief,  at  the  good  fortune  of  another.  Emula- 
tion is  a grief  at  that  belonging  to  some  one  else,  which  one  desires 
one’s  self.  Jealousy  is  a grief  at  another  also  having  what  one  has 
one’s  self.  Pain  is  a grief  which  weighs  one  down.  Perturbation  is 
grief  which  narrows  one,  and  causes  one  to  feel  in  a strait.  Sorrow 
is  a grief  arising  from  deliberate  thought,  which  endures  for  some 
time,  and  gradually  increases.  Anguish  is  a grief  with  acute  pain. 
Confusion  is  an  irrational  grief,  which  frets  one,  and  prevents  one 
from  clearly  discerning  present  circumstances.  But  fear  is  the 
expectation  of  evil ; and  the  following  feelings  are  all  classed  under 
the  head  of  fear:  apprehension,  hesitation,  shame,  perplexity, 
trepidation,  and  anxiety.  Apprehension  is  a fear  which  produces 
alarm.  Shame  is  a fear  of  discredit.  Hesitation  is  a fear  of  coming 
activity.  Perplexity  is  a fear,  from  the  imagination  of  some 
unusual  thing.  Trepidation  is  a fear  accompanied  with  an  oppres- 
sion of  the  voice.  Anxiety  is  a fear  of  some  uncertain  event. 

Again,  desire  is  an  irrational  appetite;  to  which  head,  the 
following  feelings  are  referrible;  want,  hatred,  contentiousness, 


DIOGENES  LAERTIUS’  LIVES 


103 


anger,  love,  enmity,  rage.  Want  is  a desire  arising  from  our  not 
having  something  or  other,  and  is,  as  it  were,  separated  from  the 
thing,  but  is  still  stretching,  and  attracted  towards  it  in  vain.  And 
hatred  is  a desire  that  it  should  be  ill  with  some  one,  accompanied 
with  a certain  continual  increase  and  extension.  Contentiousness 
is  a certain  desire  accompanied  with  deliberate  choice.  Anger  is 
a desire  of  revenge,  on  a person  who  appears  to  have  injured  one 
in  an  unbecoming  way.  Love  is  a desire  not  conversant  about  a 
virtuous  object,  for  it  is  an  attempt  to  conciliate  affection,  because 
of  some  beauty  which  is  seen.  Enmity  is  a certain  anger  of  long 
duration,  and  full  of  hatred,  and  it  is  a watchful  passion,  as  is 
shown  in  the  following  lines : — 

For  though  we  deem  the  short-liv’d  fury  past, 

’T  is  sure  the  mighty  will  revenge  at  last.^ 

But  rage  is  anger  at  its  commencement. 

Again,  pleasure  is  an  irrational  elation  of  the  mind  over  some- 
thing which  appears  to  be  desirable;  and  its  different  species  are 
enjoyment,  rejoicing  at  evil,  delight,  and  extravagant  joy.  Enjoy- 
ment now,  is  a pleasure  which  charms  the  mind  through  the  ears. 
Rejoicing  at  evil  {iirixaipeKaKLa)  is  a pleasure  which  arises  at 
the  misfortunes  of  others.  Delight  (repi/^t?),  that  is  to  say  turning 
(rpei/^is) , is  a certain  turning  of  the  soul  (TrporpoTrjj  ns  ipvxv<;)  to 
softness.  Extravagant  joy  is  the  dissolution  of  virtue.  And  as 
there  are  said  to  be  some  sicknesses  {a^pwa-T-^para)  in  the  body, 
as,  for  instance,  gout  and  arthritic  disorders;  so  too  there  are 
diseases  of  the  soul,  such  as  a fondness  for  glory,  or  for  pleasure, 
and  other  feelings  of  that  sort.  For  an  appwa-rrjpa  is  a disease 
accompanied  with  weakness;  and  a disease  is  an  opinion  of 
something  which  appears  exceedingly  desirable.  And,  as  in  the 
case  of  the  body,  there  are  illnesses  to  which  people  are  especially 
liable,  such  as  colds  or  diarrhoea;  so  also  are  there  propensities 
which  the  mind  is  under  the  influence  of,  such  as  enviousness, 
pitifulness,  quarrelsomeness,  and  so  on. 

There  are  also  three  good  dispositions  of  the  mind : joy,  cau- 
tion, and  will.  And  joy  they  say  is  the  opposite  of  pleasure,  since 
it  is  a rational  elation  of  the  mind ; so  caution  is  the  oppos’te  of 

* Homer’s  Iliad,  i.  81.  Pope’s  Version,  1.  105. 


104 


ZENO 


fear,  being  a rational  avoidance  of  anything,  for  the  wise  man  will 
never  be  afraid,  but  he  will  act  with  caution;  and  will,  they  define 
as  the  opposite  of  desire,  since  it  is  a rational  wish.  As  therefore 
some  things  fall  under  the  class  of  the  first  perturbations,  in  the 
same  manner  do  some  things  fall  under  the  class  of  the  first  good 
dispositions.  And  accordingly,  under  the  head  of  will  are  classed 
goodwill,  placidity,  salutation,  affection;  and  under  the  head  of 
caution  are  ranged  reverence  and  modesty;  under  the  head  of  joy, 
we  speak  of  delight,  mirth,  and  good  spirits. 

LXIV.  They  say  also,  that  the  wise  man  is  free  from  perturba- 
tions, because  he  has  no  strong  propensities.  But  that  this  free- 
dom from  propensities  also  exists  in  the  bad  man,  being,  however, 
then  quite  another  thing,  inasmuch  as  it  proceeds  in  him  only 
from  the  hardness  and  unimpressibility  of  his  nature.  They  also 
pronounce  the  wise  man  free  from  vanity,  since  he  regards  with 
equal  eye  what  is  glorious  and  what  is  inglorious.  At  the  same 
time,  they  admit  that  there  is  another  character  devoid  of  vanity, 
who,  however,  is  only  reckoned  one  of  the  rash  men,  being  in  fact 
the  bad  man.  They  also  say  that  all  the  virtuous  men  are  austere, 
because  they  do  never  speak  with  reference  to  pleasure,  nor  do 
they  listen  to  what  is  said  by  others  with  reference  to  pleasure. 
At  the  same  time  they  call  another  man  austere  too,  using  the 
term  in  nearly  the  same  sense  as  they  do  when  they  speak  of 
austere  wine  which  is  used  in  compounding  medicines  but  not 
for  drinking. 

They  also  pronounce  the  wise  to  be  honest-hearted  men, 
anxiously  attending  to  those  matters  which  may  make  them 
better,  by  means  of  some  principle  which  conceals  what  is  bad, 
and  brings  to  light  what  is  good.  Nor  is  there  any  hypocrisy  about 
them;  for  they  cut  off  all  pretence  in  their  voice  and  appearance. 
They  also  keep  aloof  from  business;  for  they  guard  carefully 
against  doing  any  thing  contrary  to  their  duty.  They  drink  wine, 
but  they  do  not  get  drunk;  and  they  never  yield  to  frenzy.  Occa- 
sionally extraordinary  imaginations  may  obtain  a momentary 
power  over  them,  owing  to  some  melancholy  or  trifling,  arising 
not  according  to  the  principle  of  what  is  desirable,  but  contrary 
to  nature.  Nor,  again,  will  the  wise  man  feel  grief;  because  grief 


DIOGENES  LAERTIUS’  LIVES 


105 

is  an  irrational  contraction  of  the  soul,  as  Apollodorus  defines  it 
in  his  Ethics. 

They  are  also,  as  they  say,  godlike;  for  they  have  something 
in  them  which  is  as  it  were  a God.  But  the  bad  man  is  an  atheist. 
Now  there  are  two  kinds  of  atheists ; one  who  speaks  in  a spirit 
of  hostility  to,  and  the  other,  who  utterly  disregards,  the  divine 
nature;  but  they  admit  that  all  bad  men  are  not  atheists  in  this 
last  sense.  The  good,  on  the  contrary,  are  pious;  for  they  have 
a thorough  acquaintance  with  the  laws  respecting  the  Gods.  And 
piety  is  a knowledge  of  the  proper  reverence  and  worship  due  to 
the  Gods.  Moreover  they  sacrifice  to  the  Gods,  and  keep  them- 
selves pure;  for  they  avoid  all  offences  having  reference  to  the 
Gods,  and  the  Gods  admire  them;  for  they  are  holy  and  just 
in  all  that  concerns  the  Deity;  and  the  wise  men  are  the  only 
priests,  for  they  consider  the  matters  relating  to  sacrifices,  and 
the  erection  of  temples,  and  purifications,  and  all  other  things 
which  peculiarly  concern  the  Gods.  They  also  pronounce  that 
men  are  bound  to  honour  their  parents,  and  their  brethren,  in 
the  second  place  after  the  Gods.  They  also  say  that  parental 
affection  for  one’s  children  is  natural  to  them,  and  is  a feeling 
which  does  not  exist  in  bad  men.  And  they  lay  down  the  position 
that  all  offences  are  equal,  as  Chrysippus  argues  in  the  fourth 
book  of  his  Ethic  Questions,  and  so  say  Persasus  and  Zeno.  For 
if  one  thing  that  is  true  is  not  more  true  than  another  thing  that 
is  true,  neither  is  one  thing  that  is  false  more  false  than  another 
thing  that  is  false;  so  too,  one  deceit  is  not  greater  than  another, 
nor  one  sin  than  another.  For  the  man  who  is  a hundred  fur- 
longs from  Canopus,  and  the  man  who  is  only  one,  are  both 
equally  not  in  Canopus;  and  so  too,  he  who  commits  a greater 
sin,  and  he  who  commits  a less,  are  both  equally  not  in  the  right 
path. 

Heraclides  of  Tarsus,  indeed,  the  friend  of  Antipater,  of  Tar- 
sus, and  Athenodorus,  both  assert  that  offences  are  not  equal. 

Again,  the  Stoics,  as  for  instance,  Chrysippus,  in  the  first  book 
of  his  work  on  Lives,  say,  that  the  wise  man  will  take  a part  in 
the  affairs  of  the  state,  if  nothing  hinders  him.  For  that  he  will 
restrain  vice,  and  excite  men  to  virtue.  Also,  they  say  that  he  wfill 


io6 


ZENO 


marry,  as  Zeno  says  in  his  Republic,  and  beget  children.  More- 
over, that  the  wise  man  will  never  form  mere  opinions,  that  is  to 
say,  he  will  never  agree  to  anything  that  is  false;  and  that  he  will 
become  a Cynic;  for  that  Cynicism  is  a short  path  to  virtue,  as 
Apollodorus  calls  it  in  his  Ethics;  that  he  will  even  eat  human 
flesh,  if  there  should  be  occasion;  that  he  is  the  only  free  man,  and 
that  the  bad  are  slaves ; for  that  freedom  is  a power  of  independent 
action,  but  slavery  a deprivation  of  the  same.  That  there  is, 
besides,  another  slavery,  which  consists  in  subjection,  and  a third 
which  consists  in  possession  and  subjection;  the  contrary  of 
which  is  masterhood,  which  is  likewise  bad. 

And  they  say,  that  not  only  are  the  wise  free,  but  that  they 
are  also  kings,  since  kingly  power  is  an  irresponsible  dominion, 
which  can  only  exist  in  the  case  of  the  wise  man,  as  Chrysippus 
says  in  his  treatise  on  the  Proper  Application  of  his  Terms  made 
by  Zeno ; for  he  says  that  a ruler  ought  to  give  decisions  on  good 
and  evil,  and  that  none  of  the  wicked  understand  these  things.  In 
the  same  way,  they  assert  that  they  are  the  only  people  who  are 
fit  to  be  magistrates  or  judges  or  orators,  and  that  none  of  the 
bad  are  qualified  for  these  tasks.  Moreover,  they  say  that  they 
are  free  from  all  error,  in  consequence  of  not  being  prone  to  any 
wrong  actions;  also,  that  they  are  unconnected  with  injury,  for 
that  they  never  injure  any  one  else,  nor  themselves.  They  also 
affirm  that  they  are  not  pitiful,  and  never  make  allowance  for  any 
one;  for  that  they  do  not  relax  the  punishments  appointed  by 
law,  since  yielding,  and  pity,  and  mercifulness  itself,  never  exist 
in  any  of  their  souls,  so  as  to  induce  an  affectation  of  kindness  in 
respect  of  punishment;  nor  do  they  ever  think  any  punishment 
too  severe.  Again,  they  say  that  the  wise  man  never  wonders  at 
any  of  the  things  which  appear  extraordinary,  as  for  instance, 
at  the  stories  about  Charon,  or  the  ebbing  of  the  tide,  or  the 
springs  of  hot  water,  or  the  bursting  forth  of  flames.  But,  say 
they  further,  the  wise  man  will  not  live  in  solitude,  for  he  is  by 
nature  sociable  and  practical.  Accordingly,  he  will  take  exercise 
for  the  sake  of  hardening  and  invigorating  his  body.  And  the 
wise  man  will  pray,  asking  good  things  from  the  Gods,  as  Posi- 
donius says  in  the  first  book  of  his  treatise  on  Duties,  and  Hecaton 


DIOGENES  LAERTIUS’  LIVES 


107 

says  the  same  thing  in  the  thirteenth  book  of  his  treatise  on  Extra- 
ordinary Things. 

They  also  say,  that  friendship  exists  in  the  virtuous  alone,  on 
account  of  their  resemblance  to  one  another.  And  they  describe 
friendship  itself  as  a certain  communion  of  the  things  which  con- 
cern life,  since  we  use  our  friends  as  ourselves.  And  they  assert 
that  a friend  is  desirable  for  his  own  sake,  and  that  a number  of 
friends  is  a good;  and  that  among  the  wicked  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  friendship,  and  that  no  wicked  man  can  have  a friend. 

Again,  they  say  that  all  the  foolish  are  mad;  for  that  they  are 
not  prudent,  and  that  madness  is  equivalent  to  folly  in  every  one 
of  its  actions;  but  that  the  wise  man  does  everything  properly, 
just  as  we  say  that  Ismenias  can  play  every  piece  of  flute-music 
well.  Also,  they  say  that  everything  belongs  to  the  wise  man,  for 
that  the  law  has  given  them  perfect  and  universal  power;  but 
some  things  also  are  said  to  belong  to  the  wicked,  just  in  the  same 
manner  as  some  things  are  said  to  belong  to  the  unjust,  or  as  a 
house  is  said  to  belong  to  a city  in  a different  sense  from  that  in 
which  a thing  belongs  to  the  person  who  uses  it. 

LXV.  And  they  say  that  virtues  reciprocally  follow  one  an- 
other, and  that  he  who  has  one  has  all ; for  that  the  precepts  of 
them  all  are  common,  as  Chrysippus  affirms  in  the  first  book  of 
his  treatise  on  Laws ; and  Apollodorus,  in  his  Natural  Philosophy, 
according  to  the  ancient  system ; and  Hecaton,  in  the  third  book 
of  his  treatise  on  Virtues.  For  they  say  that  the  man  who  is 
endued  with  virtue,  is  able  to  consider  and  also  to  do  what  must 
be  done.  But  what  must  be  done  must  be  chosen,  and  encoun- 
tered, and  distributed,  and  awaited ; so  that  if  the  man  does  some 
things  by  deliberate  choice,  and  some  in  a spirit  of  endurance, 
and  some  distributively,  and  some  patiently,  he  is  prudent,  and 
courageous,  and  just,  and  temperate.  And  each  of  the  virtues 
has  a particular  subject  of  its  own,  about  which  it  is  conversant : 
as,  for  instance,  courage  is  conversant  about  the  things  which 
must  be  endured;  prudence  is  conversant  about  what  must  be 
done  and  what  must  not,  and  what  is  of  a neutral  or  indifferent 
character.  And  in  like  manner,  the  other  virtues  are  conversant 
about  their  own  peculiar  subjects;  and  wisdom  in  counsel  and 


io8 


ZENO 


shrewdness  follow  prudence;  and  good  order  and  decorum  fellow 
temperance;  and  equality  and  goodness  of  judgment  follow  jus- 
tice; and  constancy  and  energy  follow  courage. 

Another  doctrine  of  the  Stoics  is,  that  there  is  nothing  inter- 
mediate between  virtue  and  vice;  while  the  Peripatetics  assert 
that  there  is  a stage  between  virtue  and  vice,  being  an  improve- 
ment on  vice  which  has  not  yet  arrived  at  virtue.  For  the  Stoics 
say,  that  as  a stick  must  be  either  straight  or  crooked,  so  a man 
must  be  either  just  or  unjust,  and  cannot  be  more  just  than  just, 
or  more  unjust  than  unjust;  and  that  the  same  rule  applies  to  all 
cases.  Moreover,  Chrysippus  is  of  opinion  that  virtue  can  be  lost, 
but  Cleanthes  affirms  that  it  cannot;  the  one  saying  that  it  can  be 
lost  by  drunkenness  or  m.elancholy,  the  other  maintaining  that  it 
cannot  be  lost  on  account  of  the  firm  perceptions  which  it  im- 
plants in  men.  They  also  pronounce  it  a proper  object  of  choice; 
accordingly,  we  are  ashamed  of  actions  which  we  do  improperly, 
while  we  are  aware  that  what  is  honourable  is  the  only  good. 
Again,  they  affirm  that  it  is  of  itself  sufficient  for  happiness,  as 
Zeno  sa}'S,  and  he  is  followed  in  this  assertion  by  Chrysippus  in 
the  first  book  of  his  treatise  on  Virtues,  and  by  Hecaton  in  the 
second  book  of  his  treatise  on  Goods. 

“ For  if,”  says  he,  “ magnanimity  be  sufficient  of  itself  to  enable 
us  to  act  in  a manner  superior  to  all  other  men;  and  if  that  is  a 
part  of  virtue,  then  virtue  is  of  itself  sufficient  for  happiness, 
despising  all  things  which  seem  troublesome  to  it.”  However, 
Panastius  and  Posidonius  do  not  admit  that  virtue  has  this  suffi- 
ciency of  itself,  but  say  that  there  is  also  need  of  good  health,  and 
competency,  and  strength.  And  their  opinion  is  that  a man  exer- 
cises virtue  in  everything,  as  Cleanthes  asserts,  for  it  cannot  be 
lost;  and  the  virtuous  man  on  every  occasion  exercises  his  soul, 
which  is  in  a state  of  perfection. 

LXVI.  Again,  they  say  that  justice  ex'sts  by  nature,  and  not 
because  of  any  definition  or  principle;  just  as  law  does,  or  right 
reason,  as  Chrysippus  tells  us  in  his  treatise  on  the  Beautiful; 
and  they  think  that  one  ought  not  to  abandon  philosophy  on 
account  of  the  different  opinions  prevailing  among  philosophers, 
since  on  this  principle  one  would  wholly  quit  life,  as  Posidonius 


DIOGENES  LAERTIUS’  LIVES 


109 

argues  in  his  Exhortatory  Essays.  Another  doctrine  of  Chrysippus 
is,  that  general  learning  is  very  useful. 

And  the  School  in  general  maintain  that  there  are  no  obliga- 
tions of  justice  binding  on  us  with  reference  to  other  animals,  on 
accoimt  of  their  dissimilarity  to  us,  as  Chrysippus  asserts  in  the 
first  book  of  his  treatise  on  Justice,  and  the  same  opinion  is 
maintained  by  Posidonius  in  the  first  book  of  his  treatise  on  Duty. 
They  say  too,  that  the  wise  man  will  love  those  young  men,  who 
by  their  outward  appearance,  show  a natural  aptitude  for  virtue; 
and  this  opinion  is  advanced  by  Zeno,  in  his  Republic,  and  by 
Chrysippus  in  the  first  book  of  his  work  on  Lives,  and  by  Apollo- 
dorus  in  his  Ethics.  And  they  describe  love  as  an  endeavour  to 
benefit  a friend  on  account  of  his  visible  beauty;  and  that  it  is  an 
attribute  not  of  acquaintanceship,  but  of  friendship.  Accordingly, 
that  Thrasmides,  although  he  had  his  mistress  in  his  power, 
abstained  from  her,  because  he  was  hated  by  her.  Love,  there- 
fore, according  to  them  is  a part  of  friendship,  as  Chr}^sippus 
asserts  in  his  essay  on  Love;  and  it  is  not  blameable.  Moreover, 
beauty  is  the  flower  of  virtue. 

And  as  there  are  three  kinds  of  lives : the  theoretical,  the  prac- 
tical, and  the  logical ; they  say  that  the  last  is  the  one  which  ought 
to  be  chosen.  For  that  a logical,  that  is  a rational,  animal  was 
made  by  nature  on  purpose  for  speculation  and  action.  And  they 
say  that  a wise  man  will  very  rationally  take  himself  out  of  life, 
either  for  the  sake  of  his  country  or  of  his  friends,  or  if  he  be  in 
bitter  pain,  or  under  the  affliction  of  mutilation,  or  incurable 
disease.  ... 

They  affirm  too,  that  the  best  of  political  constitutions  is  a 
mixed  one,  combined  of  democracy,  and  kingly  power,  and 
aristocracy.  And  they  say  many  things  of  this  sort,  and  more  too, 
in  their  Ethical  Dogmas,  and  they  maintain  them  by  suitable 
explanations  and  arguments.  But  this  may  be  enough  for  us  to 
say  of  their  doctrines  on  this  head  by  way  of  summary,  and  tak- 
ing them  in  an  elementary  manner. 


EPICURUS 

( 341-270) 


Frofn  DIOGENES  LAERTIUS’  LIVES 
AND  OPINIONS  OF  EMINENT 
PHILOSOPHERS 

Translated  from  the  Greek  hy 
CHARLES  D.  YONGE 

BOOK  X.  THE  EPICVREAN  ETHICS 

Epicurus  to  Menoeceus,  Greeting 

XXVII.  “Let  no  one  delay  to  study  philosophy  while  he  is 
young,  and  when  he  is  old  let  him  not  become  weary  of  the  study; 
for  no  man  can  ever  find  the  time  unsuitable  or  too  late  to  study 
the  health  of  his  soul.  And  he  who  asserts  either  that  it  is  not  yet 
time  to  philosophize,  or  that  the  hour  is  passed,  is  like  a man  who 
should  say  that  the  time  is  not  yet  come  to  be  happy,  or  that  it 
is  too  late.  So  that  both  young  and  old  should  study  philosophy, 
the  one  in  order  that,  when  he  is  old,  he  may  be  young  in  good 
things  through  the  pleasing  recollection  of  the  past,  and  the  other 
in  order  that  he  may  be  at  the  same  time  both  young  and  old,  in 
consequence  of  his  absence  of  fear  for  the  future. 

“It  is  right  then  for  a man  to  consider  the  things  which  pro- 
duce happiness,  since,  if  happiness  is  present,  we  have  every- 
thing, and  when  it  is  absent,  we  do  everything  with  a view  to  pos- 
sess it.  Now,  what  I have  constantly  recommended  to  you,  these 
things  I would  have  you  do  and  practise,  considering  them  to  be 
the  elements  of  living  well.  First  of  all,  believe  that  God  is  a 
being  incorruptible  and  happy,  as  the  common  opinion  of  the 
world  about  God  dictates;  and  attach  to  your  idea  of  him  no- 
thing which  is  inconsistent  with  incorruptibility  or  with  happi- 
ness; and  think  that  he  is  invested  with  everything  which  is  able 
to  preserve  to  him  this  happiness,  in  conjunction  with  incorrupti- 
bility. For  there  are  Gods;  though  our  knowledge  of  them  is  indis- 


DIOGENES  LAERTIUS’  LIVES 


III 


tinct.  But  they  are  not  of  the  character  which  people  in  general 
attribute  to  them;  for  they  do  not  pay  a respect  to  them  which 
accords  with  the  ideas  that  they  entertain  of  them.  And  that  man 
is  not  impious  who  discards  the  Gods  believed  in  by  the  many, 
but  he  who  applies  to  the  Gods  the  opinions  entertained  of  them 
by  the  many.  For  the  assertions  of  the  many  about  the  Gods  are 
not  anticipations  (jrpoX-ijtj/eL';),  but  false  opinions  ({i7roA.^t/<-ets).  And 
in  consequence  of  these,  the  greatest  evils  which  befall  wicked 
men,  and  the  benefits  which  are  conferred  on  the  good,  are  all 
attributed  to  the  Gods;  for  they  connect  all  their  ideas  of  them 
with  a comparison  of  human  virtues,  and  everything  which  is 
different  from  human  qualities,  they  regard  as  incompatible  with 
the  divine  nature. 

“Accustom  yourself  also  to  think  death  a matter  with  which 
we  are  not  at  all  concerned,  since  aU  good  and  all  evil  is  in  sen- 
sation, and  since  death  is  only  the  privation  of  sensation.  On 
which  account,  the  correct  knowledge  of  the  fact  that  death  is  no 
concern  of  ours,  makes  the  mortality  of  life  pleasant  to  us,  inas- 
much as  it  sets  forth  no  illimitable  time,  but  relieves  us  from  the 
longing  for  immortality.  For  there  is  nothing  terrible  in  living 
to  a man  who  rightly  comprehends  that  there  is  nothing  terrible 
in  ceasing  to  live ; so  that  he  was  a silly  man  who  said  that  he 
feared  death,  not  because  it  would  grieve  him  when  it  was  pre- 
sent, but  because  it  did  grieve  him  while  it  was  future.  For  it  is 
very  absurd  that  that  which  does  not  distress  a man  when  it  is 
present,  should  afflict  him  when  only  expected.  Therefore,  the 
most  formidable  of  all  evils,  death,  is  nothing  to  us,  since,  when 
we  exist,  death  is  not  present  to  us;  and  when  death  is  present, 
then  we  have  no  existence.  It  is  no  concern  then  either  of  the 
living  or  of  the  dead;  since  to  the  one  it  has  no  existence,  and  the 
other  class  has  no  existence  itself.  But  people  in  general  at  times 
flee  from  death  as  the  greatest  of  evils,  and  at  times  wish  for  it 
as  a rest  from  the  evils  in  life.  Nor  is  the  not  living  a thing  feared, 
since  living  is  not  connected  with  it ; nor  does  the  wise  man  think 
not  living  an  evil;  but,  just  as  he  chooses  food,  not  preferring 
that  which  is  most  abundant,  but  that  which  is  nicest ; so  too,  he 
enjoys  time,  not  measuring  it  as  to  whether  it  is  of  the  greatest 


II2 


EPICURUS 


length,  but  as  to  whether  it  is  most  agreeable.  And  he  who  en- 
joins a young  man  to  live  well,  and  an  old  man  to  die  well,  is 
a simpleton,  not  only  because  of  the  constantly  delightful  nature 
of  life,  but  also  because  the  care  to  live  well  is  identical  with  the 
care  to  die  well.  And  he  was  still  more  wrong  who  said  • — 

“’T  is  well  to  taste  of  life,  and  then  when  bora 
To  pass  with  quickness  to  the  shades  belowd 

“For  if  this  really  was  his  opinion  why  did  he  not  quit  life? 
for  it  was  easily  in  his  power  to  do  so,  if  it  really  was  his  belief. 
But  if  he  was  joking,  then  he  was  talking  foolishly  in  a case  where 
it  ought  not  to  be  allowed ; and,  we  must  recollect,  that  the  future 
is  not  our  own,  nor,  on  the  other  hand,  is  it  wholly  not  our  own, 
I mean  so  that  we  can  never  altogether  await  it  with  a feeling  of 
certainty  that  it  will  be,  nor  altogether  despair  of  it  as  what  will 
never  be.  And  we  must  consider  that  some  of  the  passions  are 
natural,  and  some  empty;  and  of  the  natural  ones  some  are  neces- 
sary, and  some  merely  natural.  And  of  the  necessary  ones  some 
are  necessary  to  happiness,  and  others  necessary  that  the  body 
may  be  exempt  from  trouble,  and  others,  in  order  that  life  itself 
may  exist;  for  a correct  theory  with  regard  to  these  things 
can  refer  all  choice  and  avoidance  to  the  health  of  the  body  and 
the  freedom  from  disquietude  of  the  soul,  since  this  is  the  end 
of  living  happily.  For  it  is  for  the  sake  of  this  that  we  do  every- 
thing, wishing  to  avoid  grief  and  fear;  and  when  once  this  is  the 
case,  with  respect  to  us,  then  the  storm  of  the  soul  is,  as  I may  say, 
put  an  end  to ; since  the  animal  is  unable  to  go  as  if  to  something 
deficient,  and  to  seek  something  different  from  that  by  which  the 
good  of  the  soul  and  body  will  be  perfected. 

“For  then  we  have  need  of  pleasure  when  we  grieve,  because 
pleasure  is  not  present;  but  when  we  do  not  grieve,  then  we  have 
no  need  of  pleasure;  and  on  this  account,  we  affirm,  that  plea- 
sure is  the  beginning  and  end  of  living  happily;  for  we  have 
recognized  this  as  the  first  good,  being  connate  with  us ; and  it  is 
with  reference  to  it  that  we  begin  every  choice  and  avoidance; 
and  to  this  we  come  as  if  we  judged  of  all  good  by  passion  as  the 
standard;  and,  since  this  is  the  first  good  and  connate  with  us, 

‘ This  quotation  is  from  Theognis. 


DIOGENES  LAERTIUS’  LIVES 


113 


on  this  account  we  do  not  choose  every  pleasure,  but  at  times  we 
pass  over  many  pleasures  when  any  difficulty  is  likely  to  ensue 
from  them ; and  we  think  many  pains  better  than  pleasures,  when 
a greater  pleasure  follows  them,  if  we  endure  the  pain  for  a time. 

“Every  pleasure  is  therefore  a good  on  account  of  its  own  na- 
ture, but  it  does  not  follow  that  every  pleasure  is  worthy  of  being 
chosen;  just  as  every  pain  is  an  evil,  and  yet  every  pain  must 
not  be  avoided.  But  it  is  right  to  estimate  all  these  things  by  the 
measurement  and  view  of  what  is  suitable  and  unsuitable;  for 
at  times  we  may  feel  the  good  as  an  evil,  and  at  times,  on  the 
contrary,  we  may  feel  the  evil  as  good.  And  we  think  content- 
ment a great  good,  not  in  order  that  we  may  never  have  but  a lit- 
tle, but  in  order  that,  if  we  have  not  much,  we  may  make  use  cf  a 
little,  being  genuinely  persuaded  that  those  men  enjoy  luxury 
most  completely  who  are  the  best  able  to  do  without  it ; and  that 
everything  which  is  natural  is  easily  provided,  and  what  is  use- 
less is  not  easily  procured.  And  simple  flavours  give  as  much 
pleasure  as  costly  fare,  when  everything  that  can  give  pain,  and 
every  feeling  of  want,  is  removed;  and  corn  and  water  give  the 
most  extreme  pleasure  when  any  one  in  need  eats  them.  To  ac- 
custom one’s  self,  therefore,  to  simple  and  inexpensive  habits  is 
a great  ingredient  in  the  perfecting  of  health,  and  makes  a man 
free  from  hesitation  with  respect  to  the  necessary  uses  of  life. 
And  when  we  on  certain  occasions  fall  in  with  more  sumptuous 
fare,  it  makes  us  in  a better  disposition  toward  it,  and  renders 
us  fearless  with  respect  to  fortune.  When,  therefore,  we  say  that 
pleasure  is  a chief  good,  we  are  not  speaking  of  the  pleasures  of 
the  debauched  man,  or  those  which  lie  in  sensual  enjoyment,  as 
some  think  who  are  ignorant,  and  who  do  not  entertain  our  opin- 
ions, or  else  interpret  them  perversely;  but  we  mean  the  freedom 
of  the  body  from  pain,  and  of  the  soul  from  confusion.  For  it  is 
not  continued  drinkings  and  revels,  or  the  enjoyment  of  female 
society,  or  feasts  of  fish  and  other  such  things,  as  a costly  table 
supplies,  that  make  life  pleasant,  but  sober  contemplation,  which 
examines  into  the  reasons  for  all  choice  and  avoidance,  and 
which  puts  to  flight  the  vain  opinions  from  which  the  greater 
part  of  the  confusion  arises  which  troubles  the  soul. 


EPICURUS 


114 

“Now,  the  beginning  and  the  greatest  good  of  all  these  things 
is  prudence,  on  which  account  prudence  is  something  more  valu- 
able than  even  philosophy,  inasmuch  as  all  the  other  virtues 
spring  from  it,  teaching  us  that  it  is  not  possible  to  live  pleasantly 
unless  one  also  lives  prudently,  and  honourably,  and  justly;  and 
that  one  cannot  live  prudently,  and  honestly,  and  justly,  without 
living  pleasantly;  for  the  virtues  are  connate  with  living  agree- 
ably, and  living  agreeably  is  inseparable  from  the  virtues.  Since, 
who  can  you  think  better  than  that  man  who  has  holy  opinions 
respecting  the  Gods,  and  who  is  utterly  fearless  with  respect  to 
death,  and  who  has  properly  contemplated  the  end  of  nature, 
and  who  comprehends  that  the  chief  good  is  easily  perfected  and 
easily  provided;  and  the  greatest  evil  lasts  but  a short  period, 
and  causes  but  brief  pain.  And  who  has  no  belief  in  necessity, 
which  is  set  up  by  some  as  the  mistress  of  all  things,  but  he  refers 
some  things  to  fortune,  some  to  ourselves,  because  necessity  is  an 
irresponsible  power,  and  because  he  sees  that  fortune  is  unsta- 
ble, while  our  own  will  is  free;  and  this  freedom  constitutes,  in  our 
case,  a responsibility  which  makes  us  encounter  blame  and  praise. 
Since  it  would  be  better  to  follow  the  fables  about  the  Gods  than 
to  be  a slave  to  the  fate  of  the  natural  philosopher;  for  the  fables 
are  sketched  as  if  it  were  possible  to  avert  the  wrath  of  God  by 
paying  him  honour;  but  the  other  presents  us  with  a necessity 
which  is  inexorable. 

“And  he,  not  thinking  fortune  a goddess,  as  the  generality 
esteem  her  (for  nothing  is  done  at  random  by  a god),  nor  a cause 
which  no  man  can  rely  on,  for  he  thinks  that  good  or  evil  is  not 
given  by  her  to  men  so  as  to  make  them  live  happily,  but  that  the 
principles  of  great  goods  or  great  evils  are  supplied  by  her;  think- 
ing it  better  to  be  unfortunate  in  accordance  with  reason,  than 
to  be  fortunate  irrationally;  for  that  those  actions  which  are 
judged  to  be  the  best,  are  rightly  done  in  consequence  of  rea- 
son. 

“Do  you  then  study  these  precepts,  and  those  which  are  akin 
to  them,  by  all  means  day  and  night,  pondering  on  them  by  your- 
self, and  discussing  them  with  any  one  like  yourself,  and  then 
you  will  never  be  disturbed  by  either  sleeping  or  waking  fancies, 


DIOGENES  LAERTIUS’  LIVES 


115 

but  you  will  live  like  a god  among  men ; for  a man  living  amid 
immortal  gods,  is  in  no  respect  like  a mortal  being.” 

In  other  works,  he  discards  divination;  and  also  in  his  Little 
Epitome.  And  he  says  divination  has  no  existence;  but,  if  it  has 
any,  still  we  should  think  that  what  happens  according  to  it  is 
nothing  to  us. 

These  are  his  sentiments  about  the  things  which  concern  the 
life  of  man,  and  he  has  discussed  them  at  greater  length  else- 
where. 

XXVIII.  Now,  he  differs  with  the  Cyrenaics  about  pleasure. 
For  they  do  not  admit  that  to  be  pleasure  which  exists  as  a con- 
dition, but  place  it  wholly  in  motion.  He,  however,  admits  both 
kinds  to  be  pleasure,  namely,  that  of  the  soul,  and  that  of  the 
body,  as  he  says  in  his  treatise  on  Choice  and  Avoidance;  and 
also  in  his  work  on  the  Chief  Good ; and  in  the  first  book  of  his 
treatise  on  Lives,  and  in  his  Letter  against  the  Mitylenian  Phi- 
losophers. And  in  the  same  spirit,  Diogenes  [of  Tarsus],  in  the 
seventeenth  book  of  his  Select  Discourses,  and  Metrodorus,  in 
his  Timocrates,  speak  thus ; “ But  when  pleasure  is  understood, 
I mean  both  that  which  exists  in  motion,  and  that  which  is  a 
state.  . . And  Epicurus,  in  his  treatise  on  Choice,  speaks 
thus:  “Now,  freedom  from  disquietude,  and  freedom  from  pain, 
are  states  of  pleasure;  but  joy  and  cheerfulness  are  beheld  in 
motion  and  energy.” 

XXIX.  For  they  make  out  the  pains  of  the  body  to  be  worse 
than  those  of  the  mind;  accordingly,  those  who  do  wrong  are 
punished  in  the  body.  But  he  considers  the  pains  of  the  soul  the 
worst ; for  that  the  flesh  is  only  sensible  to  present  affliction,  but 
the  soul  feels  the  past,  the  present,  and  the  future.  Therefore, 
in  the  same  manner,  he  contends  that  the  pleasures  of  the  soul 
are  greater  than  those  of  the  body;  and  he  uses  as  a proof  that 
pleasure  is  the  chief  good,  theffact  that  all  animals  from  the  mo- 
ment of  their  birth  are  delighted  with  pleasure,  and  are  offended 
with  pain  by  their  natural  instinct,  and  without  the  employment 
of  reason.  Therefore,  too,  we,  of  our  own  inclination,  flee  from 
pain;  so  that  Hercules,  when  devoured  by  his  poisoned  tunic, 
cries  out  — 


ii6 


EPICURUS 


Shouting  and  groaning;  and  the  rocks  around 
Reechoed  his  sad  wails,  the  mountain  heights 
Of  Locrian  lands,  and  sad  Euboea’s  hills.* 

XXX.  And  we  choose  the  virtues  for  the  sake  of  pleasure, 
and  not  on  their  own  account;  just  as  we  seek  the  skill  of  the 
physician  for  the  sake  of  health,  as  Diogenes  says,  in  the  twentieth 
book  of  his  Select  Discourses,  where  he  also  calls  virtue  a way 
of  passing  one’s  life  (Sta-yw-yri).  But  Epicurus  says,  that  virtue 
alone  is  inseparable  from  pleasure,  but  that  everything  else  may 
be  separated  from  it  as  mortal. 

Maxims  of  Epicurus 

XXXI.  Let  us,  however,  now  add  the  finishing  stroke,  as  one 
may  say,  to  this  whole  treatise,  and  to  the  life  of  the  philosopher; 
giving  some  of  his  fundamental  maxims,  and  closing  the  whole 
work  with  them,  taking  that  for  our  end  which  is  the  beginning 
of  happiness. 

1.  “That  which  is  happy  and  imperishable,  neither  has  trou- 
ble itself,  nor  does  it  cause  such  to  anything;  so  that  it  is  not  sub- 
ject to  the  feelings  of  either  anger  or  gratitude ; for  these  feelings 
only  exist  in  what  is  weak. 

(In  other  passages  he  says  that  the  Gods  are  speculated  on  by 
reason,  some  existing  according  to  number,  and  others  according 
to  some  similarity  of  form,  arising  from  the  continual  flowing  on 
of  similar  images,  perfected  for  this  very  purpose  in  human  form.) 

2.  “ Death  is  nothing  to  us : for  that  which  is  dissolved  is  de- 
void of  sensation;  but  that  which  is  devoid  of  sensation  is  nothing 
to  us. 

3.  “The  limit  of  the  greatness  of  the  pleasures  is  the  removal 
of  everything  which  can  give  pain.  And  where  pleasure  is,  as  long 
as  it  lasts,  that  which  gives  pain,  or  that  which  feels  pain,  or  both 
of  them,  are  absent. 

4.  “Pain  does  not  abide  continuously  in  the  flesh,  but  in  its 
extremity  it  is  present  only  a very  short  time.  That  pain  which 
only  just  exceeds  the  pleasure  in  the  flesh,  does  not  last  many 
days.  But  long  diseases  have  in  them  more  that  is  pleasant  than 
painful  to  the  flesh. 

* From  the  TrachinicB  of  Sophocles,  1784- 


DIOGENES  LAERTIUS’  LIVES  117 

5.  “It  is  not  possible  to  live  pleasantly  without  living  prudently, 
and  honourably,  and  justly;  nor  to  live  prudently,  and  honour- 
ably, and  justly,  without  living  pleasantly.  But  he  to  whom  it 
does  not  happen  to  live  prudently,  honourably,  and  justly,  can- 
not possibly  live  pleasantly. 

6.  “For  the  sake  of  feeling  confidence  and  security  with  re- 
gard to  men,  and  not  with  reference  to  the  nature  of  government 
and  kingly  power  being  a good,  some  men  have  wished  to  be 
eminent  and  powerful,  in  order  that  others  might  attain  this  feel- 
ing by  their  means ; thinking  that  so  they  would  secure  safety  as 
far  as  men  are  concerned.  So  that,  if  the  life  of  such  men  is  safe, 
they  have  attained  to  the  nature  of  good;  but  if  it  is  not  safe, 
then  they  have  failed  in  obtaining  that  for  the  sake  of  which  they 
originally  desired  power  according  to  the  order  of  nature. 

7.  “No  pleasure  is  intrinsically  bad;  but  the  efficient  causes 
of  some  pleasures  bring  with  them  a great  many  perturbations 
of  pleasure. 

8.  “If  every  pleasure  were  condensed,  if  one  may  so  say,  and 
if  each  lasted  long,  and  affected  the  whole  body,  or  the  essential 
parts  of  it,  then  there  would  be  no  difference  between  one  plea- 
sure and  another. 

9.  “If  those  things  which  make  the  pleasures  of  debauched 
men,  put  an  end  to  the  fears  of  the  mind,  and  to  those  which  arise 
about  the  heavenly  phenomena,  and  death,  and  pain;  and  if  they 
taught  us  what  ought  to  be  the  limit  of  our  desires,  we  should 
have  no  pretence  for  blaming  those  who  wholly  devote  them- 
selves to  pleasure,  and  who  never  feel  any  pain  or  grief  (which 
is  the  chief  evil)  from  any  quarter. 

10.  “ If  apprehensions  relating  to  the  heavenly  phenomena  did 
not  disturb  us,  and  if  the  terrors  of  death  did  not  concern  us, 
and  if  we  had  the  courage  to  contemplate  the  boundaries  of  pain 
and  of  the  desires,  we  should  have  no  need  of  physiological 
studies. 

11.  “It  would  not  be  possible  for  a person  to  banish  all  fear 
about  those  things  which  are  called  most  essential,  unless  he 
knew  what  is  the  nature  of  the  universe,  or  if  he  had  any  idea 
that  the  fables  told  about  it  could  be  true;  and  therefore  it  is 


ii8  EPICURUS 

that  a person  cannot  enjoy  unmixed  pleasure  without  physio- 
logical knowledge. 

12.  “It  would  be  no  good  for  a man  to  secure  himself  safety 
as  far  as  men  are  concerned,  while  in  a state  of  apprehension  as  to 
all  the  things  on  high,  and  those  under  the  earth,  and  in  short, 
all  those  in  the  infinite. 

13.  “Irresistible  power  and  great  wealth  may,  up  to  a certain 
point,  give  us  security  as  far  as  men  are  concerned;  but  the  se- 
curity of  men  in  general  depends  upon  the  tranquillity  of  their 
souls,  and  their  freedom  from  ambition. 

14.  “The  riches  of  nature  are  defined  and  easily  procurable; 
but  vain  desires  are  insatiable. 

15.  “The  wise  man  is  but  little  favoured  by  fortune;  but  his 
reason  procures  him  the  greatest  and  most  valuable  goods,  and 
these  he  does  enjoy,  and  will  enjoy  the  whole  of  his  life. 

16.  “The  just  man  is  the  freest  of  aU  men  from  disquietude; 
but  the  unjust  man  is  a perpetual  prey  to  it. 

17.  “ Pleasure  in  the  flesh  is  not  increased,  when  once  the  pain 
arising  from  want  is  removed;  it  is  only  diversified. 

18.  “The  most  perfect  happiness  of  the  soul  depends  on  these 
reflections,  and  on  opinions  of  a similar  character  on  all  those 
questions  which  cause  the  greatest  alarm  to  the  mind. 

19.  “Infinite  and  finite  time  both  have  equal  pleasure,  if  any 
one  measures  its  limits  by  reason. 

20.  “ If  the  flesh  could  experience  boundless  pleasure,  it  would 
want  to  dispose  of  eternity. 

21.  “But  reason,  enabling  us  to  conceive  the  end  and  disso- 
lution of  the  body,  and  liberating  us  from  the  fears  relative  to 
eternity,  procures  for  us  all  the  happiness  of  which  life  is  capable 
so  completely  that  we  have  no  further  occasion  to  include  eternity 
in  our  desires.  In  this  disposition  of  mind  man  is  happy  even 
when  his  troubles  engage  him  to  quit  life;  and  to  die  thus  is  for 
him  only  to  interrupt  a life  of  happiness. 

22.  “He  who  is  acquainted  with  the  limits  of  life  knows,  that 
that  which  removes  the  pain  which  arises  from  want,  and  which 
makes  the  whole  of  life  perfect,  is  easily  procurable ; so  that  he  has 
no  need  of  those  things  which  can  only  be  attained  with  trouble. 


DIOGENES  LAERTIUS’  LIVES 


119 

23.  “But  as  to  the  subsisting  end,  we  ought  to  consider  it  with 
all  the  clearness  and  evidence  which  we  refer  to  whatever  we 
think  and  believe;  otherwise,  all  things  will  be  full  of  confusion 
and  uncertainty  of  judgment. 

24.  “If  you  resist  all  the  senses,  you  will  not  even  have  any- 
thing left  to  which  you  can  refer,  or  by  which  you  may  be  able 
to  judge  of  the  falsehood  of  the  senses  which  you  condemn. 

25.  “If  you  simply  discard  one  sense,  and  do  not  distinguish 
between  the  different  elements  of  the  judgment,  so  as  to  know 
on  the  one  hand,  the  induction  which  goes  beyond  the  actual 
sensation,  or,  on  the  other,  the  actual  and  immediate  notion; 
the  affections,  and  all  the  conceptions  of  the  mind  which  lean 
directly  on  the  sensible  representation,  you  will  be  imputing 
trouble  into  the  other  sense,  and  destroying  in  that  quarter  every 
species  of  criterion. 

26.  “If  you  allow  equal  authority  to  the  ideas,  which,  being 
only  inductive,  require  to  be  verified,  and  to  those  which  bear 
about  them  an  immediate  certainty,  you  will  not  escape  error; 
for  you  will  be  confounding  doubtful  opinions  with  those  which 
are  not  doubtful,  and  true  judgments  with  those  of  a different 
character. 

27.  “If,  on  every  occasion,  we  do  not  refer  every  one  of  our 
actions  to  the  chief  end  of  nature,  if  we  turn  aside  from  that  to 
seek  or  avoid  some  other  object,  there  will  be  a want  of  agree- 
ment between  our  words  and  our  actions. 

28.  “Of  all  the  things  which  wisdom  provides  for  the  happi- 
ness of  the  whole  life,  by  far  the  most  important  is  the  acquisition 
of  friendship. 

29.  “The  same  opinion  encourages  man  to  trust  that  no  evil 
will  be  everlasting,  or  even  of  long  duration;  as  it  sees  that,  in 
the  space  of  life  allotted  to  us,  the  protection  of  friendship  is  most 
sure  and  trustworthy. 

30.  “Of  the  desires,  some  are  natural  and  necessary,  some 
natural,  but  not  necessary,  and  some  are  neither  natural  nor 
necessary,  but  owe  their  existence  to  vain  opinions. 

(Epicurus  thinks  that  those  are  natural  and  necessary  which 
put  an  end  to  pains,  as  drink  when  one  is  thirsty;  and  that  those 


120 


EPICURUS 


are  natural  but  not  necessary  which  only  diversify  pleasure,  but 
do  not  remove  pain,  such  as  expensive  food ; and  that  those  are 
neither  natural  nor  necessary,  which  are  such  as  crowns,  or  the 
erection  of  statues.) 

31.  “Those  desires  which  do  not  lead  to  pain,  if  they  are  not 
satisfied,  are  not  necessary.  It  is  easy  to  impose  silence  on  them 
when  they  appear  difficult  to  gratify,  or  likely  to  produce  injury. 

32.  “When  the  natural  desires,  the  failing  to  satisfy  which 
is,  nevertheless,  not  painful,  are  violent  and  obstinate,  it  is  a 
proof  that  there  is  an  admixture  of  vain  opinion  in  them;  for  then 
energy  does  not  arise  from  their  own  nature,  but  from  the  vain 
opinions  of  men. 

33.  “Natural  justice  is  a covenant  of  what  is  suitable,  leading 
men  to  avoid  injuring  one  another,  and  being  injured. 

34.  “Those  animals  which  are  unable  to  enter  into  an  argu- 
ment of  this  nature,  or  to  guard  against  doing  or  sustaining  mu- 
tual injury,  have  no  such  thing  as  justice  or  injustice.  And  the 
case  is  the  same  with  those  nations,  the  members  of  which  are 
either  unwilling  or  unable  to  enter  into  a covenant  to  respect 
their  mutual  interests. 

35.  “Justice  has  no  independent  existence;  it  results  from 
mutual  contracts,  and  establishes  itself  wherever  there  is  a mu- 
tual engagement  to  guard  against  doing  or  sustaining  mutual 
injury. 

36.  “Injustice  is  not  intrinsically  bad;  it  has  this  character 
only  because  there  is  joined  with  it  a fear  of  not  escaping  those 
who  are  appointed  to  punish  actions  marked  with  that  character. 

37.  “It  is  not  possible  for  a man  who  secretly  does  anything 
in  contravention  of  the  agreement  which  men  have  made  with 
one  another  to  guard  against  doing  or  sustaining  mutual  in- 
jury, to  believe  that  he  shall  always  escape  notice,  even  if  he  have 
escaped  notice  already  ten  thousand  times;  for,  till  his  death,  it 
is  uncertain  whether  he  will  not  be  detected. 

38.  “In  a general  point  of  view,  justice  is  the  same  thing  to 
every  one;  for  there  is  something  advantageous  in  mutual  so- 
ciety. Nevertheless,  the  difference  of  place,  and  divers  other 
circumstances,  make  justice  vary. 


DIOGENES  LAERTIUS’  LIVES 


I2I 


39.  “From  the  moment  that  a thing  declared  just  by  the  law 
is  generally  recognized  as  useful  for  the  mutual  relations  of  men, 
it  becomes  really  just,  whether  it  is  universally  regarded  as  such 
or  not. 

40.  “But  if,  on  the  contrary,  a thing  established  by  law  is  not 
really  useful  for  the  social  relations,  then  it  is  not  just;  and  if 
that  which  was  just,  inasmuch  as  it  was  useful,  loses  this  char- 
acter, after  having  been  for  some  time  considered  so,  it  is  not  less 
true  that,  during  that  time,  it  was  really  just,  at  least  for  those 
who  do  not  perplex  themselves  about  vain  words,  but  who  pre- 
fer, in  every  case,  examining  and  judging  for  themselves. 

41.  “When,  without  any  fresh  circumstances  arising,  a thing 
which  has  been  declared  just  in  practice  does  not  agree  with  the 
impressions  of  reason,  that  is  a proof  that  the  thing  was  not  really 
just.  In  the  same  way,  when  in  consequence  of  new  circum- 
stances, a thing  which  has  been  pronounced  just  does  not  any 
longer  appear  to  agree  with  utility,  the  thing  which  was  just,  in- 
asmuch as  it  was  useful  to  the  social  relations  and  intercourse 
of  mankind,  ceases  to  be  just  the  moment  when  it  ceases  to  be 
useful. 

42.  “He  who  desires  to  live  tranquilly  without  having  any- 
thing to  fear  from  other  men,  ought  to  make  himself  friends; 
those  whom  he  cannot  make  friends  of,  he  should  at  least  avoid 
rendering  enemies;  and  if  that  is  not  in  his  power,  he  should, 
as  far  as  possible,  avoid  all  intercourse  with  them  and  keep  them 
aloof,  as  far  as  it  is  for  his  interest  to  do  so. 

43.  “The  happiest  men  are  they  who  have  arrived  at  the  point 
of  having  nothing  to  fear  from  those  who  surround  them.  Such 
men  live  with  one  another  most  agreeably,  having  the  firmest 
grounds  of  confidence  in  one  another,  enjoying  the  advantages 
of  friendship  in  all  their  fulness,  and  not  lamenting,  as  a pitiable 
circumstance,  the  premature  death  of  their  friends.” 


TITUS  LUCRETIUS  GARUS 

(95-51 ) 

ON  THE  NATURE  OF  THINGS 


Translated  from  the  Latin  * hy 
H.  A.  j.  MUNRO 

BOOK  II.  THE  TRJN^UILLITT  OF  THE 
PHILOSOPHER 

It  is  sweet,  when  on  the  great  sea  the  winds  trouble  its  waters, 
to  behold  from  land  another’s  deep  distress ; not  that  it  is  a plea- 
sure and  delight  that  any  should  be  afflicted,  but  because  it  is 
sweet  to  see  from  what  evils  you  are  yourself  exempt.  It  is  sweet 
also  to  look  upon  the  mighty  struggles  of  war  arrayed  along  the 
plains  without  sharing  yourself  in  the  danger.  But  nothing  is 
more  welcome  than  to  hold  the  lofty  and  serene  positions  well 
fortified  by  the  learning  of  the  wise,  from  which  you  may  look 
down  upon  others  and  see  them  wandering  all  abroad  and  going 
astray  in  their  search  for  the  path  of  life,  see  the  contest  among 
them  of  intellect,  the  rivalry  of  birth,  the  striving  night  and  day 
with  surpassing  effort  to  struggle  up  to  the  summit  of  power  and 
be  masters  of  the  world.  O miserable  minds  of  men ! O blinded 
breasts ! in  what  darkness  of  life  and  in  how  great  dangers  is 
passed  this  term  of  life  whatever  its  duration!  not  choose  to  see 
that  nature  craves  for  herself  no  more  than  this,  that  pain  hold 
aloof  from  the  body,  and  she  in  mind  enjoy  a feeling  of  pleasure 
exempt  from  care  and  fear  ? Therefore  we  see  that  for  the  body’s 
nature  few  things  are  needed  at  all,  such  and  such  only  as  take 
away  pain.  Nay,  though  more  gratefully  at  times  they  can  min- 
ister to  us  many  choice  delights,  nature  for  her  part  wants  them 
not,  when  there  are  no  golden  images  of  youths  through  the  house 
holding  in  their  right  hands  flaming  lamps  for  supply  of  light  to 
the  nightly  banquet,  when  the  house  shines  not  with  silver  nor 

* From  T.  Lucrelii  Cari  De  Reriim  Natura  libri  sex.  Reprinted  from  Lucre- 
tius’ On  the  Nature  of  Things,  translated  by  H.  A.  J.  Munro,  London,  1864;  ’86. 


ON  THE  NATURE  OF  THINGS 


123 


glitters  with  gold  nor  do  the  panelled  and  gilded  roofs  reecho 
to  the  harp,  what  time,  though  these  things  be  wanting,  they 
spread  themselves  in  groups  on  the  soft  grass  beside  a stream 
of  water  under  the  boughs  of  a high  tree  and  at  no  great  cost 
pleasantly  refresh  their  bodies,  above  all  when  the  weather  smiles 
and  the  seasons  of  the  year  besprinkle  the  green  grass  with 
flowers.  Nor  do  hot  fevers  sooner  quit  the  body,  if  you  toss  about 
on  pictured  tapestry  and  blushing  purple,  than  if  you  must  lie 
under  a poor  man’s  blanket.  Wherefore  since  treasures  avail 
nothing  in  respect  of  our  body  nor  birth  nor  the  glory  of  kingly- 
power,  advancing  farther  you  must  hold  that  they  are  of  no  ser- 
vice to  the  mind  as  well ; unless  may  be  when  you  see  your  legions 
swarm  over  the  ground  of  the  campus  waging  the  mimicry  of 
war,  strengthened  flank  and  rear  by  powerful  reserves  and  great 
force  of  cavalry,  and  you  marshall  them  equipped  in  arms  and 
animated  with  one  spirit,  thereupon  you  find  that  religious  scru- 
ples scared  by  these  things  fly  panic-stricken  from  the  mind ; and 
that  then  fears  of  death  leave  the  breast  unembarrassed  and  free 
from  care,  when  you  see  your  fleet  swarm  forth  and  spread  itself 
far  and  wide.  But  if  we  see  that  these  things  are  food  for  laughter 
and  mere  mockeries,  and  in  good  truth  the  fears  of  men  and 
dogging  cares  dread  not  the  clash  of  arms  and  cruel  weapons,  if 
unabashed  they  mix  among  kings  and  kesars  and  stand  not  in 
awe  of  the  glitter  from  gold  nor  the  brilliant  sheen  of  the  purple 
robe,  how  can  you  doubt  that  this  is  wholly  the  prerogative  of 
reason,  when  the  whole  of  life  withal  is  a struggle  in  the  dark  ? 
For  even  as  children  are  flurried  and  dread  all  things  in  the  thick 
darkness,  thus  we  in  the  daylight  fear  at  times  things  not  a whit 
more  to  be  dreaded  than  those  which  children  shudder  at  in  the 
dark  and  fancy  sure  to  be.  This  terror  therefore  and  darkness 
of  mind  must  be  dispelled  not  by  the  rays  of  the  sun  and  glit- 
tering shafts  of  day,  but  by  the  aspect  and  law  of  nature. 

Now  mark  and  I will  explain  by  what  motion  the  begetting 
bodies  of  matter  do  beget  different  things  and  after  they  are 
begotten  again  break  them  up,  and  by  what  force  they  are  com- 
pelled so  to  do  and  what  velocity  is  given  to  them  for  travelling 
through  the  great  void : do  you  mind  to  give  heed  to  my  words. 


124 


LUCRETIUS 


For  verily  matter  does  not  cohere  inseparably  massed  together, 
since  we  see  that  everything  wanes  and  perceive  that  all  things 
ebb  as  it  were  by  length  of  time  and  that  age  withdraws  them 
from  our  sight,  though  yet  the  sum  is  seen  to  remain  unimpaired 
by  reason  that  the  bodies  which  quit  each  thing,  lessen  the  things 
from  which  they  go,  gift  with  increase  those  to  which  they  have 
come,  compel  the  former  to  grow  old,  the  latter  to  come  to  their 
prime,  and  yet  abide  not  with  these.  Thus  the  sum  of  things  is 
ever  renewed  and  mortals  live  by  a reciprocal  dependency.  Some 
nations  wax,  others  wane,  and  in  a brief  space  the  races  of  liv- 
ing things  are  changed  and  like  runners  hand  over  the  lamp  of 
life. 


But  some  in  opposition  to  this,  ignorant  of  matter,  believe  that 
nature  cannot  without  the  providence  of  the  gods  in  such  nice 
conformity  to  the  ways  of  men  vary  the  seasons  of  the  year  and 
bring  forth  crops,  ay  and  all  the  other  things,  which  divine  plea- 
sure the  guide  of  life  prompts  men  to  approach,  escorting  them 
in  person  and  enticing  them  by  her  fondlings  to  continue  their 
races  through  the  arts  of  Venus,  that  mankind  may  not  come  to 
an  end.  Now  when  they  suppose  that  the  gods  designed  all  things 
for  the  sake  of  men,  they  seem  to  me  in  all  respects  to  have  strayed 
most  widely  from  true  reason.  For  even  if  I did  not  know  what 
first-beginnings  are,  yet  this,  judging  by  the  very  arrangements 
of  heaven,  I would  venture  to  affirm,  and  led  by  many  other  cir- 
cumstances to  maintain,  that  the  nature  of  the  world  has  by  no 
means  been  made  for  us  by  divine  power ; so  great  are  the  defects 
with  which  it  stands  encumbered. 


BOOK  III.  THE  FEAR  OF  DEATH  DISPELLED 

Death  therefore  to  us  is  nothing,  concerns  us  not  a jot,  since 
the  nature  of  the  mind  is  proved  to  be  mortal;  and  as  in  time 
gone  by  we  felt  no  distress,  when  the  Poeni  from  all  sides  came 
together  to  do  battle,  and  all  things  shaken  by  war’s  troublous 
uproar  shuddered  and  quaked  beneath  high  heaven,  and  mortal 


ON  THE  NATURE  OF  THINGS 


125 


men  were  in  doubt  which  of  the  two  peoples  it  should  be  to  whose 
empire  all  must  fall  by  sea  and  land  alike,  thus  when  we  shall 
be  no  more,  when  there  shall  have  been  a separation  of  body  and 
soul,  out  of  both  of  which  we  are  each  formed  into  a single  being, 
to  us,  you  may  be  sure,  who  then  shall  be  no  more,  nothing  what- 
ever can  happen  to  excite  sensation,  not  if  earth  shall  be  mingled 
with  sea  and  sea  with  heaven.  And  even  supposing  the  nature 
of  the  mind  and  power  of  the  soul  do  feel,  after  they  have 
been  severed  from  our  body,  yet  that  is  nothing  to  us  who  by 
the  binding  tie  of  marriage  between  body  and  soul  are  formed 
each  into  one  single  being.  And  if  time  should  gather  up  our 
matter  after  our  death  and  put  it  once  more  into  the  position  in 
which  it  now  is,  and  the  light  of  life  be  given  to  us  again,  this  re- 
sult even  would  concern  us  not  at  all,  when  the  chain  of  our  self- 
consciousness  has  once  been  snapped  asunder.  So  now  we  give 
ourselves  no  concern  about  any  self  which  we  have  been  before, 
nor  do  we  feel  any  distress  on  the  score  of  that  self.  For  when 
you  look  back  on  the  whole  past  course  of  immeasurable  time 
and  think  how  manifold  are  the  shapes  which  the  motions  of  mat- 
ter take,  you  may  easily  credit  this  too,  that  these  very  same  seeds 
of  which  we  now  are  formed,  have  often  before  been  placed  in 
the  same  order  in  which  they  now  are ; and  yet  we  cannot  recover 
this  in  memory ; a break  in  our  existence  has  been  interposed, 
and  all  the  motions  have  wandered  to  and  fro  far  astray  from 
the  sensations  they  produced.  For  he  whom  evil  is  to  befall,  must 
in  his  own  person  exist  at  the  very  time  it  comes,  if  the  misery 
and  suffering  are  haply  to  have  any  place  at  all ; but  since  death 
precludes  this,  and  forbids  him  to  be,  upon  whom  the  ills  can  be 
brought,  you  may  be  sure  that  we  have  nothing  to  fear  after 
death,  and  that  he  who  exists  not,  cannot  become  miserable, 
and  that  it  matters  not  a whit  whether  he  has  been  born  into  life 
at  any  other  time,  when  immortal  death  has  taken  away  his 
mortal  life. 

Therefore  when  you  see  a man  bemoaning  his  hard  case,  that 
after  death  he  shall  either  rot  with  his  body  laid  in  the  grave  or 
be  devoured  by  flames  or  the  jaws  of  wild  beasts,  you  may  be 
sure  that  his  ring  betrays  a flaw  and  that  there  lurks  in  his  heart 


126 


LUCRETIUS 


a secret  goad,  though  he  himself  declare  that  he  does  not  believe 
that  any  sense  will  remain  to  him  after  death.  He  does  not  me- 
thinks  really  grant  the  conclusion  which  he  professes  to  grant 
nor  the  principle  on  which  he  so  professes,  nor  does  he  take  and 
force  himself  root  and  branch  out  of  life,  but  all  unconsciously 
imagines  something  of  self  to  survive.  For  when  any  one  in  life 
suggests  to  himself  that  birds  and  beasts  will  rend  his  body  after 
death,  he  makes  moan  for  himself ; he  does  not  separate  himself 
from  that  self,  nor  withdraw  himself  fully  from  the  body  so  thrown 
out,  and  fancies  himself  that  other  self  and  stands  by  and  im- 
pregnates it  with  his  own  sense.  Hence  he  makes  much  moan 
that  he  has  been  born  mortal,  and  sees  not  that  after  real  death 
there  will  be  no  other  self  to  remain  in  life  and  lament  to  self  that 
his  own  self  has  met  death,  and  there  to  stand  and  grieve  that 
his  own  self  there  lying  is  mangled  or  burnt.  For  if  it  is  an  evil 
after  death  to  be  pulled  about  by  the  devouring  jaws  of  wild 
beasts,  I cannot  see  why  it  should  not  be  a cruel  pain  to  be  laid 
on  fires  and  burn  in  hot  flames,  or  to  be  placed  in  honey  and 
stifled,  or  to  stiffen  with  cold,  stretched  on  the  smooth  surface 
of  an  icy  slab  of  stone,  or  to  be  pressed  down  and  crushed  by  a 
load  of  earth  above. 

“ Now  no  more  shall  thy  house  admit  thee  with  glad  welcome, 
nor  a most  virtuous  wife  and  sweet  children  run  to  be  the  first 
to  snatch  kisses  and  touch  thy  heart  with  a silent  joy.  No  more 
mayst  thou  be  prosperous  in  thy  doings,  a safeguard  to  thine 
own.  One  disastrous  day  has  taken  from  thee  luckless  man  in 
luckless  wise  all  the  many  prizes  of  life.  ” This  do  men  say;  but 
add  not  thereto  “ and  now  no  longer  does  any  craving  for  these 
things  beset  thee  withal.”  For  if  they  could  rightly  perceive  this 
in  thought  and  follow  up  the  thought  in  words,  they  would  re- 
lease themselves  from  great  distress  and  apprehension  of  mind. 
“ Thou,  even  as  now  thou  art,  sunk  in  the  sleep  of  death,  shalt 
continue  so  to  be  all  time  to  come,  freed  from  all  distressful 
pains;  but  we  with  a sorrow  that  would  not  be  sated  wept  for 
thee,  when  close  by  thou  didst  turn  to  an  ashen  hue  on  thy  ap 
palling  funeral  pile,  and  no  length  of  days  shall  pluck  from  our 
hearts  our  ever-during  grief.”  This  question  therefore  should  be 


ON  THE  NATURE  OF  THINGS 


127 


asked  of  this  speaker,  what  there  is  in  it  so  passing  bitter,  if  it 
come  in  the  end  to  sleep  and  rest,  that  any  one  should  pine  in 
never-ending  sorrow. 

This  too  men  often,  when  they  have  reclined  at  table  cup  in 
hand  and  shade  their  brows  with  crowns,  love  to  say  from  the 
heart:  “Short  is  this  enjoyment  for  poor  weak  men;  presently 
it  will  have  been  and  never  after  may  it  be  called  back.”  As  if 
after  their  death  it  is  to  be  one  of  their  chiefest  afflictions  that 
thirst  and  parching  drought  is  to  burn  them  up,  hapless  wretches, 
or  a craving  for  anything  else  is  to  beset  them.  What  folly ! no 
one  feels  the  want  of  himself  and  life  at  the  time  when  mind  and 
body  are  together  sunk  in  sleep;  for  all  we  care  this  sleep  might 
be  everlasting,  no  craving  whatever  for  ourselves  then  moves 
us.  And  yet  by  no  means  do  those  first-beginnings  throughout 
our  frame  wander  at  that  time  far  away  from  their  sense-pro- 
ducing motions,  at  the  moment  when  a man  starts  up  from  sleep 
and  collects  himself.  Death  therefore  must  be  thought  to  con- 
cern us  much  less,  if  less  there  can  be  than  what  we  see  to  be 
nothing;  for  a greater  dispersion  of  the  mass  of  matter  follows 
after  death,  and  no  one  wakes  up,  upon  whom  the  chill  cessation 
of  life  has  once  come. 

Once  more,  if  the  nature  of  things  could  suddenly  utter  a voice 
and  in  person  could  rally  any  of  us  in  such  words  as  these ; “What 
hast  thou,  O mortal,  so  much  at  heart,  that  thou  goest  such  lengths 
in  sickly  sorrows?  why  bemoan  and  bewail  death?  for  say  thy 
life  past  and  gone  has  been  welcome  to  thee  and  thy  blessings 
have  not  all,  as  if  they  were  poured  into  a perforated  vessel,  run 
through  and  been  lost  without  avail : why  not  then  take  thy  de- 
parture like  a guest  filled  with  life,  and  with  resignation,  thou 
fool,  enter  upon  untroubled  rest?  but  if  all  that  thou  hast  en- 
joyed, has  been  squandered  and  lost,  and  life  is  a grievance,  why 
seek  to  make  any  addition,  to  be  wasted  perversely  in  its  turn  and 
lost  utterly  without  avail  ? why  not  rather  make  an  end  of  life 
and  travail  ? for  there  is  nothing  more  which  I can  contrive  and 
discover  for  thee  to  give  pleasure : all  things  are  ever  the  same. 
Though  thy  body  is  not  yet  decayed  with  years  nor  thy  frame 
worn  out  and  exhausted,  yet  all  things  remain  the  same,  ay 


128 


LUCRETIUS 


though  in  length  of  life  thou  shouldst  outlast  all  races  of  things 
now  living,  nay  even  more  if  thou  shouldst  never  die,”  what  an- 
swer have  we  to  make  save  this,  that  nature  sets  up  against  us 
a well-founded  claim  and  puts  forth  in  her  pleading  a true  in- 
dictment? If  however  one  of  greater  age  and  more  advanced 
in  years  should  complain  and  lament,  poor  wretch,  his  death  more 
than  is  right,  would  she  not  with  greater  cause  raise  her  voice 
and  rally  him  in  sharp  accents : “ Away  from  this  time  forth  with 
thy  tears,  rascal;  a truce  to  thy  complainings:  thou  decayest 
after  full  enjoyment  of  all  the  prizes  of  life.  But  because  thou 
ever  yearnest  for  what  is  not  present,  and  despisest  what  is,  life 
has  slipped  from  thy  grasp  unfinished  and  unsatisfying,  and  or 
ever  thou  thoughtest,  death  has  taken  his  stand  at  thy  pillow, 
before  thou  canst  take  thy  departure  sated  and  filled  with  good 
things.  Now  however  resign  all  things  unsuited  to  thy  age,  and 
with  a good  grace  up  and  greatly  go : thou  must.”  With  good  rea- 
son methinks  she  would  bring  her  charge,  with  reason  rally  and 
reproach;  for  old  things  give  way  and  are  supplanted  by  new 
without  fail,  and  one  thing  must  ever  be  replenished  out  of  other 
things;  and  no  one  is  delivered  over  to  the  pit  and  black  Tar- 
tarus : matter  is  needed  for  after  generations  to  grow ; all  of  which 
though  will  follow  thee  when  they  have  finished  their  term  of 
life;  and  thus  it  is  that  all  these  no  less  than  thou  have  before 
this  come  to  an  end  and  hereafter  will  come  to  an  end.  Thus  one 
thing  will  never  cease  to  rise  out  of  another,  and  life  is  granted 
to  none  in  fee-simple,  to  all  in  usufruct.  Think  too  how  the  by- 
gone antiquity  of  everlasting  time  before  our  birth  was  nothing 
to  us.  Nature  therefore  holds  this  up  to  us  as  a mirror  of  the  time 
yet  to  come  after  our  death.  Is  there  aught  in  this  that  looks 
appalling,  aught  that  wears  an  aspect  of  gloom?  is  it  not  more 
untroubled  than  any  sleep? 

And  those  things  sure  enough,  which  are  fabled  to  be  in  the 
deep  of  Acheron,  do  all  exist  for  us  in  this  life.  No  Tantalus, 
numbed  by  groundless  terror,  as  the  story  is,  fears,  poor  wretch, 
a huge  stone  hanging  in  air;  but  in  life  rather  a baseless  dread 
of  the  gods  vexes  mortals : the  fall  they  fear  is  such  fall  of  luck 
as  chance  brings  to  each.  Nor  do  birds  eat  a way  into  Tityos 


ON  THE  NATURE  OF  THINGS 


129 


laid  in  Acheron,  nor  can  they  sooth  to  say  find  during  eternity 
food  to  peck  under  his  large  breast.  However  huge  the  bulk  of 
body  he  extends,  though  such  as  to  take  up  with  outspread  limbs 
not  nine  acres  merely,  but  the  whole  earth,  yet  will  he  not  be  able 
to  endure  everlasting  pain  and  supply  food  .‘‘rom  his  own  body 
for  ever.  But  he  is  for  us  a Tityos,  whom  as  he  grovels  in  love 
vultures  rend  and  bitter  bitter  anguish  eats  up  or  troubled 
thoughts  from  any  other  passion  do  rive.  In  life  too  we  have  a 
Sisyphus  before  our  eyes  who  is  bent  on  asking  from  the  people 
the  rods  and  cruel  axes,  and  always  retires  defeated  and  disap- 
pointed. For  to  ask  for  power,  which  empty  as  it  is  is  never  given, 
and  always  in  the  chase  of  it  to  undergo  severe  toil,  this  is  forcing 
up-hill  with  much  effort  a stone  which  after  all  rolls  back  again 
from  the  summit  and  seeks  in  headlong  haste  the  levels  of  the 
plain.  Then  to  be  ever  feeding  the  thankless  nature  of  the  mind, 
and  never  to  fill  it  full  and  sate  it  with  good  things,  as  the  seasons 
of  the  year  do  for  us,  when  they  come  round  and  bring  their  fruits 
and  varied  delights,  though  after  all  we  are  never  filled  with  the 
enjoyments  of  life,  this  methinks  is  to  do  what  is  told  of  the 
maidens  in  the  flower  of  their  age,  to  keep  pouring  water  into  a 
perforated  vessel  which  in  spite  of  all  can  never  be  filled  full. 
Moreover  Cerberus  and  the  furies  and  yon  privation  of  light 
[are  idle  tales,  as  well  as  all  the  rest,  Ixion’s  wheel  and  black] 
Tartarus  belching  forth  hideous  fires  from  his  throat:  things 
which  nowhere  are  nor  sooth  to  say  can  be.  But  there  is  in  life  a 
dread  of  punishment  for  evil  deeds,  signal  as  the  deeds  are  signal, 
and  for  atonement  of  guilt,  the  prison  and  the  frightful  hurling 
down  from  the  rock,  scourgings,  executioners,  the  dungeon  of 
the  doomed,  the  pitch,  the  metal  plate,  torches;  and  even  though 
these  are  wanting,  yet  the  conscience-stricken  mind  through 
boding  fears  applies  to  itself  goads  and  frightens  itself  with  whips, 
and  sees  not  meanwhile  what  end  there  can  be  of  ills  or  what 
limit  at  last  is  to  be  set  to  punishments,  and  fears  lest  these  very 
evils  be  enhanced  after  death.  The  life  of  fools  at  length  becomes 
a hell  here  on  earth. 

This  too  you  may  sometimes  say  to  yourself,  “Even  worthy 
Ancus  has  quitted  the  light  with  his  eyes,  who  was  far  far  better 


130 


LUCRETIUS 


than  thou,  unconscionable  man.  And  since  then  many  other 
kings  and  kesars  have  been  laid  low,  who  lorded  it  over  mighty 
nations.  He  too,  even  he  who  erst  paved  a way  over  the  great 
sea  and  made  a path  for  his  legions  to  march  over  the  deep  and 
taught  them  to  pass  on  foot  over  the  salt  pools  and  set  at  naught 
the  roarings  of  the  sea,  trampling  on  them  with  his  horses,  had 
the  light  taken  from  him  and  shed  forth  his  soul  from  his  dying 
body.  The  son  of  the  Scipios,  thunderbolt  of  war,  terror  of  Car- 
thage, yielded  his  bones  to  earth  just  as  if  he  were  the  lowest 
menial.  Think  too  of  the  inventors  of  all  sciences  and  graceful 
arts,  think  of  the  companions  of  the  Heliconian  maids;  among 
whom  Homer  bore  the  sceptre  without  a peer,  and  he  now  sleeps 
the  same  sleep  as  others.  Then  there  is  Democritus  who,  when 
a ripe  old  age  had  warned  him  that  the  memory-waking  mo- 
tions of  his  mind  were  waning,  by  his  own  spontaneous  act 
offered  up  his  head  to  death.  Even  Epicurus  passed  away,  when 
his  light  of  life  had  run  its  course,  he  who  surpassed  in  intellect 
the  race  of  man  and  quenched  the  light  of  all,  as  the  ethereal  sun 
arisen  quenches  the  stars.  Wilt  thou  then  hesitate  and  think  it 
a hardship  to  die  ? thou  for  whom  life  is  well  nigh  dead  whilst 
yet  thou  livest  and  seest  the  light,  who  spendest  the  greater  part 
of  thy  time  in  sleep  and  snorest  wide  awake  and  ceasest  not  to 
see  visions  and  hast  a mind  troubled  with  groundless  terror  and 
canst  not  discover  often  what  it  is  that  ails  thee,  when  besotted 
man  thou  art  sore  pressed  on  all  sides  with  full  many  cares  and 
goest  astray  tumbling  about  in  the  wayward  wanderings  of  thy 
mind. 

If,  just  as  they  are  seen  to  feel  that  a load  is  on  their  mind 
which  wears  them  out  with  its  pressure,  men  might  apprehend 
from  what  causes  too  it  is  produced  and  whence  such  a pile,  if  I 
may  say  so,  of  ills  lies  on  their  breast,  they  would  not  spend  their 
life  as  we  see  them  now  for  the  most  part  do,  not  knowing  any 
one  of  them  what  he  means  and  wanting  ever  change  of  place  as 
though  he  might  lay  his  burden  down.  The  man  who  is  sick 
of  home  often  issues  forth  from  his  large  mansion,  and  as  sud- 
denly comes  back  to  it,  finding  as  he  does  that  he  is  no  better  off 
abroad.  He  races  to  his  country-house,  driving  his  jennets  in 


ON  THE  NATURE  OF  THINGS 


131 

headlong  haste,  as  if  hurrying  to  bring  help  to  a house  on  fire : 
he  yawns  the  moment  he  has  reached  the  door  of  his  house,  or 
sinks  heavily  into  sleep  and  seeks  forgetfulness,  or  even  in  haste 
goes  back  again  to  town.  In  this  way  each  man  flies  from  him- 
self (but  self,  from  whom,  as  you  may  be  sure  is  commonly  the 
case,  he  cannot  escape,  clings  to  him  in  his  own  despite),  hates 
too  himself,  because  he  is  sick  and  knows  not  the  cause  of  the 
malady;  for  if  he  could  rightly  see  into  this,  relinquishing  all  else 
each  man  would  study  to  learn  the  nature  of  things,  since  the 
point  at  stake  is  the  condition  for  eternity,  not  for  one  hour,  in 
which  mortals  have  to  pass  all  the  time  which  remains  for  them 
to  expect  after  death. 

Once  more  what  evil  lust  of  life  is  this  which  constrains  us  with 
such  force  to  be  so  mightily  troubled  in  doubts  and  dangers?  a 
sure  term  of  life  is  fixed  for  mortals,  and  death  cannot  be  shunned, 
but  meet  it  we  must.  Moreover  we  are  ever  engaged,  ever  in- 
volved in  the  same  pursuits,  and  no  new  pleasure  is  struck  out  by 
living  on;  but  whilst  what  we  crave  is  wanting,  it  seems  to  trans- 
cend all  the  rest;  then,  when  it  has  been  gotten,  we  crave  some- 
thing else,  and  ever  does  the  same  thirst  of  life  possess  us,  as  we 
gape  for  it  open-mouthed.  Quite  doubtful  it  is  what  fortune  the 
future  will  carry  with  it  or  what  chance  will  bring  us  or  what  end 
is  at  hand.  Nor  by  prolonging  life  do  we  take  one  tittle  from  the 
time  past  in  death  nor  can  we  fret  anything  away,  whereby  we 
may  haply  be  a less  long  time  in  the  condition  of  the  dead.  There- 
fore you  may  complete  as  many  generations  as  you  please  during 
your  life;  none  the  less  however  will  that  everlasting  death  await 
you ; and  for  no  less  long  a time  will  he  be  no  more  in  being,  who 
beginning  with  to-day  has  ended  his  life,  than  the  man  who  has 
died  many  months  and  years  ago. 


EPICTETUS 

( 6o  A.  D.-  ? ) 

THE  DISCOURSES  OF  EPICTETUS 


Translated  from  the  Greek  * by 
THOMAS  WENTWORTH  HIGGINSON 

BOOK  I.  CHAPTER  /.  OF  THE  THINGS  WHICH 
ARE,  AND  THE  THINGS  WHICH  ARE 
NOT,  IN  OUR  OWN  POWER 

Of  human  faculties  in  general,  you  will  find  that  each  is  unable 
to  contemplate  itself,  and  therefore  to  approve  or  disapprove 
itself.  How  far  does  the  proper  sphere  of  grammar  extend  ? As 
far  as  the  judging  of  language.  Of  music  ? As  far  as  the  judging 
of  melody.  Does  either  of  them  contemplate  itself,  then  ? By  no 
means. 

Thus,  for  instance,  when  you  are  to  write  to  your  friend,  gram- 
mar will  tell  you  what  to  write ; but  whether  you  are  to  write  to 
your  friend  at  all,  or  no,  grammar  will  not  tell  you.  Thus  music, 
with  regard  to  tunes;  but  whether  it  be  proper  or  improper,  at  any 
particular  time,  to  sing  or  play,  music  will  not  tell  you. 

What  will  tell,  then? 

That  faculty  which  contemplates  both  itself  and  all  other 
things. 

And  what  is  that? 

The  Reasoning  Faculty;  for  that  alone  is  found  able  to  place 
an  estimate  upon  itself,  — what  it  is,  what  are  its  powers,  what 
its  value  and  likewise  all  the  rest.  For  what  is  it  else  that  says, 
gold  is  beautiful  ? since  the  gold  itself  does  not  speak.  Evidently, 
that  faculty  which  judges  of  the  appearances  of  things.  What 
else  distinguishes  music,  grammar,  the  other  faculties,  proves 
their  uses,  and  shows  their  proper  occasions? 

Nothing  but  this. 

* From  ‘A^^idvov  tuv  ’Ettikt^tou  Aiarpt^civ,  riacapa.  Reprinted  from 

The  Works  of  Epictetus,  translated  by  T.  W.  Higginson,  Boston,  Little,  Brown 
& Co.,  2 vols.,  new  and  rev.  ed.,  1890. 


DISCOURSES 


133 


As  it  was  fit,  then,  this  most  excellent  and  superior  faculty  alone, 
a right  use  of  the  appearances  of  things,  the  gods  have  placed  in 
our  own  power;  but  all  other  matters  they  have  not  placed  in 
our  power.  What,  was  it  because  they  would  not  ? I rather  think 
that,  if  they  could,  they  had  granted  us  these  too ; but  they  cer- 
tainly could  not.  For,  placed  upon  earth,  and  confined  to  such 
a body  and  to  such  companions,  how  was  it  possible  that,  in  these 
respects,  we  should  not  be  hindered  by  things  outside  of  us? 

But  what  says  Zeus?  “ O Epictetus,  if  it  had  been  possible,  I 
had  made  this  little  body  and  property  of  thine  free,  and  not 
liable  to  hindrance.  But  now  do  not  mistake;  it  is  not  thy  own, 
but  only  a finer  mixture  of  clay.  Since,  then,  I could  not  give 
thee  this,  I have  given  thee  a certain  portion  of  myself ; this  fac- 
ulty of  exerting  the  powers  of  pursuit  and  avoidance,  of  desire 
and  aversion,  and,  in  a word,  the  use  of  the  appearances  of  things. 
Taking  care  of  this  point,  and  making  what  is  thy  own  to  con- 
sist in  this,  thou  wilt  never  be  restrained,  never  be  hindered ; thou 
wilt  not  groan,  wilt  not  complain,  wilt  not  flatter  any  one.  How, 
then  ? Do  all  these  advantages  seem  small  to  thee  ? Heaven  for- 
bid! Let  them  suffice  thee,  then,  and  thank  the  gods.” 

But  now,  when  it  is  in  our  power  to  take  care  of  one  thing,  and 
to  apply  ourselves  to  one,  we  choose  rather  to  take  care  of  many, 
and  to  encumber  ourselves  with  many,  — body,  property,  bro- 
ther, friend,  child,  and  slave,  — and,  by  this  multiplicity  of 
encumbrances,  we  are  burdened  and  weighed  down.  Thus, 
when  the  weather  does  not  happen  to  be  fair  for  sailing,  we  sit 
in  distress  and  gaze  out  perpetually.  Which  way  is  the  wind? 
North.  What  good  will  that  do  us  ? When  will  the  west  blow  ? 
When  it  pleases,  friend,  or  when  ^olus  pleases ; for  Zeus  has  not 
made  you  dispenser  of  the  winds,  but  .Tiolus. 

What,  then,  is  to  be  done? 

To  make  the  best  of  what  is  in  our  power,  and  take  the  rest  as 
it  occurs. 

And  how  does  it  occur? 

As  it  pleases  God. 

What,  then,  must  I be  the  only  one  to  lose  my  head? 

Why,  would  you  have  all  the  world,  then,  lose  their  heads  for 


134 


EPICTETUS 


your  consolation  ? Why  are  not  you  willing  to  stretch  out  your 
neck,  like  Lateranus,  when  he  was  commanded  by  Nero  to  be 
beheaded  ? For,  shrinking  a little  after  receiving  a weak  blow,  he 
stretched  it  out  again.  And  before  this,  when  Epaphroditus,  the 
freedman  of  Nero,  interrogated  him  about  the  conspiracy,  “If 
I have  a mind  to  say  anything,”  replied  he,  “I  will  tell  it  to 
your  master.” 

What  resource  have  we,  then,  upon  such  occasions?  Why, 
what  else  but  to  distinguish  between  what  is  ours,  and  what  not 
ours,  — what  is  right,  and  what  is  wrong?  I must  die,  and  must 
I die  groaning  too  ? I must  be  fettered ; must  I be  lamenting  too  ? 
I must  be  exiled;  and  what  hinders  me,  then,  but  that  I may  go 
smiling,  and  cheerful,  and  serene  ? “ Betray  a secret.”  I will  not 
betray  it,  for  this  is  in  my  own  power.  “Then  I will  fetter  you.” 
What  do  you  say,  man?  Fetter  me?  You  will  fetter  my  leg,  but 
not  Zeus  himself  can  get  the  better  of  my  free  will.  “ I will  throw 
you  into  prison;  I will  behead  that  paltry  body  of  yours.”  Did  I 
ever  tell  you  that  I alone  had  a head  not  liable  to  be  cut  off? 
These  things  ought  philosophers  to  study;  these  ought  they  daily 
to  write,  and  in  these  to  exercise  themselves. 

Thraseas  used  to  say,  “ I had  rather  be  killed  to-day  than  ban- 
ished to-morrow.”  But  how  did  Rufus  answer  him?  “If  you 
prefer  it  as  a heavier  misfortune,  how  foolish  a preference ! If  as 
a lighter,  who  has  put  it  in  your  power  ? Why  do  you  not  study 
to  be  contented  with  what  is  allotted  you?  ” 


CHJPTER  XXFI.  WHAT  THE  RULE  OF  LIFE  IS 

As  some  one  was  reading  hypothetical  propositions,  Epictetus 
remarked  that  it  was  a rule  in  these  to  admit  whatever  was  in 
accordance  with  the  hypothesis,  but  much  more  a rule  in  life  to 
do  what  was  in  accordance  with  nature.  For,  if  we  desire  in 
every  matter  and  on  every  occasion  to  conform  to  nature,  we 
must  on  every  occasion  evidently  make  it  our  aim,  neither  to  omit 
anything  thus  conformable,  nor  to  admit  anything  inconsistent. 


DISCOURSES 


135 


Philosophers,  therefore,  first  exercise  us  in  theory,  which  is  the 
more  easy  task,  and  then  lead  us  to  the  more  difficult;  for  in 
theory  there  is  nothing  to  hinder  our  following  what  we  are 
taught,  but  in  life  there  are  many  things  to  draw  us  aside.  It  is 
ridiculous,  then,  to  say  we  must  begin  with  these  applications, 
for  it  is  not  easy  to  begin  with  the  most  difficult ; and  this  excuse 
children  should  make  to  those  parents  who  dislike  that  they  should 
study  philosophy.  “Am  I to  blame  then,  sir,  and  ignorant  of  my 
duty,  and  of  what  is  incumbent  on  me?  If  this  is  neither  to  be 
learned,  nor  taught,  why  do  you  find  fault  with  me?  If  it  is  to 
be  taught,  pray  teach  me  yourself ; or,  if  you  cannot,  let  me  learn 
it  from  those  who  profess  to  understand  it.  For  what  think  you; 
that  I voluntarily  fall  into  evil,  and  miss  good  ? Heaven  forbid ! 
What,  then,  is  the  cause  of  my  faults  ? Ignorance.  Are  you  not 
willing,  then,  that  I should  get  rid  of  my  ignorance?  Who  was 
ever  taught  the  art  of  music,  or  navigation,  by  anger  ? Do  you 
expect,  then,  that  your  anger  should  teach  me  the  art  of  living?  ” 

This,  however,  can  properly  be  said  only  by  one  who  is  really 
in  earnest.  But  he  who  reads  these  things,  and  applies  to  the 
philosophers,  merely  for  the  sake  of  showing,  at  some  entertain- 
ment, that  he  understands  hypothetical  reasonings,  what  aim  has 
he  but  to  be  admired  by  some  senator,  who  happens  to  sit  near 
him  ? Great  possessions  may  be  won  by  such  aims  as  that,  but 
what  we  hold  as  wealth  passes  there  for  folly.  It  is  hard,  there- 
fore, to  overcome  by  appearances,  where  vain  things  thus  pass 
for  great. 

I once  saw  a person  weeping  and  embracing  the  knees  of  Epa- 
phroditus,  and  deploring  his  hard  fortune,  that  he  had  not  more 
than  150,000  drachmae  left.  What  said  Epaphroditus  then?  Did 
he  laugh  at  him,  as  we  should  do  ? No ; but  cried  out  with  aston- 
ishment: “Poor  man!  How  could  you  be  silent  under  it  ? How 
could  you  bear  it  ? ” 

The  first  step,  therefore,  towards  becoming  a philosopher  is  to 
be  sensible  in  what  state  the  ruling  faculty  of  the  mind  is ; for  on 
knowing  it  to  be  weak,  no  person  will  immediately  employ  it  in 
great  attempts.  But,  for  want  of  this,  some  who  can  scarce  digest 
a crumb  will  yet  buy  and  swallow  whole  treatises ; and  so  they 


EPICTETUS 


136 

throw  them  up  again,  or  cannot  digest  them;  and  then  come 
colics,  fluxes,  and  fevers.  Such  persons  ought  to  consider  what 
they  can  bear.  Indeed,  it  is  easy  to  convince  an  ignorant  person, 
so  far  as  concerns  theory;  but  in  matters  relating  to  life,  no  one 
offers  himself  to  conviction,  and  we  hate  those  who  have  con- 
vinced us.  Socrates  used  to  say,  that  we  ought  not  to  live  a life 
unexamined.  ^ 

BOOK  II.  CHAPTER  Fill.  THE  ESSENCE  OF  GOOD 

God  is  beneficial.  Good  is  also  benficial.  It  should  seem,  then, 
that  where  the  essence  of  God  is,  there  too  is  the  essence  of  good. 
What  then  is  the  essence  of  God,  — flesh  ? By  no  means.  An  es- 
tate? Fame?  By  no  means.  Intelligence?  Knowledge?  Right 
reason?  Certainly.  Here,  then,  without  more  ado,  seek  the  es- 
sence of  good.  For  do  you  seek  that  quality  in  a plant  ? No.  Or 
in  a brute?  No,  If,  then,  you  seek  it  only  in  a rational  subject, 
why  do  you  seek  it  anywhere  but  in  what  distinguishes  that  from 
things  irrational?  Plants  make  no  voluntary  use  of  things,  and 
therefore  you  do  not  apply  the  term  of  good  to  them.  Good,  then, 
implies  such  use.  And  nothing  else?  If  so,  you  may  say  that 
good  and  happiness  and  unhappiness  belong  to  mere  animals. 
But  this  you  do  not  say,  and  you  are  right;  for,  how  much  so- 
ever they  have  the  use  of  things,  they  have  not  the  intelligent  use, 
and  with  good  reason;  for  they  are  made  to  be  subservient  to 
others,  and  not  of  primary  importance.  Why  was  an  ass  made? 
Was  it  as  being  of  primary  importance  ? No ; but  because  we  had 
need  of  a back  able  to  carry  burdens.  We  had  need  too  that  he 
should  be  capable  of  locomotion;  therefore  he  had  the  voluntary 
use  of  things  added,  otherwise  he  could  not  have  moved.  But 
here  his  endowments  end;  for,  if  an  understanding  of  that  use 
had  been  likewise  added,  he  would  not,  in  reason,  have  been  sub- 
ject to  us,  nor  have  done  us  these  services,  but  would  have  been 
like  an  equal  to  ourselves.  Why  will  you  not,  therefore,  seek  the 
essence  of  good  in  that  without  which  you  cannot  say  that  there 
is  good  in  anything? 


* Plato,  Apologia,  i.  28. 


DISCOURSES 


137 


What  then  ? Are  not  all  these  likewise  the  works  of  the  gods  ? 
They  are;  but  not  primary  existences,  nor  parts  of  the  gods.  But 
you  are  a primary  existence.  You  are  a distinct  portion  of  the 
essence  of  God,  and  contain  a certain  part  of  him  in  yourself. 
Why  then  are  you  ignorant  of  your  noble  birth  ? Why  do  not  you 
consider  whence  you  came  ? Why  do  not  you  remember,  when 
you  are  eating,  who  you  are  who  eat,  and  whom  you  feed  ? When 
you  are  in  the  company  of  women,  when  you  are  conversing, 
when  you  are  exercising,  when  you  are  disputing,  do  not  you  know 
that  it  is  the  Divine  you  feed,  the  Divine  you  exercise  ? You  carry 
a God  about  with  you,  poor  wretch,  and  know  nothing  of  it.  Do 
you  suppose  I mean  some  god  without  you  of  gold  or  silver  ? It 
is  within  yourself  that  you  carry  him;  and  you  do  not  observe  that 
you  profane  him  by  impure  thoughts  and  unclean  actions.  If 
the  mere  external  image  of  God  were  present,  you  would  not 
dare  to  act  as  you  do;  and  when  God  himself  is  within  you,  and 
hears  and  sees  all,  are  not  you  ashamed  to  think  and  act  thus, 
— insensible  of  your  own  nature,  and  at  enmity  with  God  ? 

Why,  then,  are  we  afraid,  when  we  send  a young  man  from 
the  school  into  active  life,  that  he  should  behave  indecently,  eat 
indecently,  converse  indecently  with  women;  that  he  should 
either  debase  himself  by  slovenliness,  or  clothe  himself  too  finely? 
Knows  he  not  the  God  within  him  ? Knows  he  not  in  what  com- 
pany he  goes?  It  is  provoking  to  hear  him  say  [to  his  instructor], 
“ I wish  to  have  you  with  me.”  Have  you  not  God  ? Do  you  seek 
any  other,  while  you  have  him?  Or  will  he  tell  you  any  other 
things  than  these?  If  you  were  a statue  of  Phidias,  as  Zeus  or 
Athena,  you  would  remember  both  yourself  and  the  artist;  and 
if  you  had  any  sense,  you  would  endeavor  to  be  in  no  way  un- 
worthy of  him  who  formed  you,  nor  of  yourself;  nor  to  appear 
in  an  unbecoming  manner  to  spectators.  And  are  you  now  care- 
less how  you  appear  when  you  are  the  workmanship  of  Zeus 
himself  ? And  yet,  what  comparison  is  there,  either  between  the 
artists,  or  the  things  they  have  formed  ? What  work  of  any  artist 
has  conveyed  into  its  structure  those  very  faculties  which  are 
shown  in  shaping  it  ? Is  it  anything  but  marble,  or  brass,  or  gold, 
or  ivory  ? And  the  Athena  of  Phidias,  when  its  hand  is  once 


EPICTETUS 


138 

extended,  and  a Victory  placed  in  it,  remains  in  that  attitude  for- 
ever. But  the  works  of  God  are  endowed  with  motion,  breath, 
the  powers  of  use  and  judgment.  Being,  then,  the  work  of  such 
an  artist,  will  you  dishonor  him,  especially  when  he  hath  not  only 
formed  you,  but  given  your  guardianship  to  yourself?  Will  you 
not  only  be  forgetful  of  this,  but,  moreover,  dishonor  the  trust  ? 
If  God  had  committed  some  orphan  to  your  charge,  would  you 
have  been  thus  careless  of  him?  He  has  delivered  yourself  to 
your  care;  and  says,  “I  had  no  one  fitter  to  be  trusted  than  you; 
preserve  this  person  for  me,  such  as  he  is  by  nature,  — modest, 
faithful,  noble,  unterrified,  dispassionate,  tranquil.”  And  will 
you  not  preserve  him? 

But  it  will  be  said  ; ‘‘What  need  of  this  lofty  look,  and  dignity 
of  face?  ” 

I answer,  that  I have  not  yet  so  much  dignity  as  the  case  de- 
mands; for  I do  not  yet  trust  to  what  I have  learned,  and  ac- 
cepted. I still  fear  my  own  weakness.  Let  me  but  take  courage 
a little,  and  then  you  shall  see  such  a look,  and  such  an  appear- 
ance, as  I ought  to  have.  Then  I will  show  you  the  statue  when 
it  is  finished,  when  it  is  polished.  Do  you  think  I will  show  you  a 
supercilious  countenance?  Heaven  forbid!  For  Olympian  Zeus 
doth  not  haughtily  lift  his  brow,  but  keeps  a steady  counte- 
nance, as  becomes  him  who  is  about  so  say,  — 

My  promise  is  irrevocable,  sure.* 

Such  will  I show  myself  to  you ; faithful,  modest,  noble,  tran- 
quil. 

“What,  and  immortal  too,  and  exempt  from  age  and  sick- 
ness?” 

N 0.  But  sickening  and  dying  as  becomes  the  divine  within  me. 
This  is  in  my  power  ; this  I can  do.  The  other  is  not  in  my  power, 
nor  can  I do  it.  Shall  I show  you  the  muscular  training  of  a 
philosopher  ? 

“What  muscles  are  those.'”’ 

A will  undisappointed,  evils  avoided,  powers  duly  exerted, 
careful  resolutions,  unerring  decisions.  These  you  shall  see. 

1 Homer’s  liiad^  i.  526. 


DISCOURSES 


139 


CHAPTER  XL  THE  BEGINNING  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

The  beginning  of  philosophy,  at  least  to  such  as  enter  upon  it 
in  a proper  way,  and  by  the  door,  is  a consciousness  of  our  own 
weakness  and  inability  in  necessary  things.  For  we  came  into 
the  world  without  any  natural  idea  of  a right-angled  triangle; 
of  a diesis,  or  a semitone,  in  music;  but  we  learn  each  of  these 
things  by  some  artistic  instruction.  Hence,  they  who  do  not  un- 
derstand them  do  not  assume  to  understand  them.  But  who 
ever  came  into  the  world  without  an  innate  idea  of  good  and 
evil,  fair  and  base,  becoming  and  unbecoming,  happiness  and 
rhisery,  proper  and  improper ; what  ought  to  be  done,  and  what 
not  to  be  done?  Hence,  we  all  make  use  of  the  terms,  and  en- 
deavor to  apply  our  impressions  to  particular  cases.  “Such  a 
one  hath  acted  well,  not  well;  right,  not  right;  is  unhappy,  is 
happy ; is  just,  is  unjust.”  Which  of  us  refrains  from  these  terms  ? 
Who  defers  the  use  of  them  till  he  has  learnt  it,  as  those  do  who 
are  ignorant  of  lines  and  sounds  ? The  reason  of  this  is,  that  we 
come  instructed  in  some  degree  by  nature  upon  these  subjects ; 
and  from  this  beginning,  we  go  on  to  add  self-conceit.  “For 
why,”  say  you,  “should  I not  know  what  fair  or  base  is?  Have 
I not  the  idea  of  it  ? ” You  have.  “ Do  I not  apply  this  idea  to  the 
particular  instance?”  You  do.  “Do  I not  apply  it  rightly, 
then?”  Here  lies  the  whole  question;  and  here  arises  the  self- 
conceit.  Beginning  from  these  acknowledged  points,  men  pro- 
ceed, by  applying  them  improperly,  to  reach  the  very  position 
most  questionable.  For,  if  they  knew  how  to  apply  them  also, 
they  would  be  all  but  perfect. 

If  you  think  that  you  know  how  to  apply  your  general  princi- 
ples to  particular  cases,  tell  me  on  what  you  base  this  application. 

“Upon  its  seeming  so  to  me.” 

But  it  does  not  seem  so  to  another;  and  does  not  he  too  think 
that  he  makes  a right  application? 

“He  does.” 

Is  it  possible,  then,  that  each  of  you  should  rightly  apply  your 
principles,  on  the  very  subjects  about  which  your  opinions  con- 
flict? 


140 


EPICTETUS 


“It  is  not.” 

Have  you  anything  to  show  us,  then,  for  this  application,  be- 
yond the  fact  of  its  seeming  so  to  you  ? And  does  a madman  act 
any  otherwise  than  seems  to  him  right  ? Is  this,  then,  a sufficient 
criterion  for  him  too? 

“It  is  not.” 

Come,  therefore,  to  some  stronger  ground  than  seeming. 

“What  is  that?” 

The  beginning  of  philosophy  is  this:  the  being  sensible  of  the 
disagreement  of  men  with  each  other;  an  inquiry  into  the  cause 
of  this  disagreement;  and  a disapprobation  and  distrust  of  what 
merely  seems ; a careful  examination  into  what  seems,  whether  it 
seems  rightly;  and  the  discovery  of  some  rule  which  shall  serve 
like  a balance,  for  the  determination  of  weights;  like  a square, 
for  distinguishing  straight  and  crooked.  This  is  the  beginning 
of  philosophy. 

Is  it  possible  that  all  things  which  seem  right  to  all  persons  are 
so?  Can  things  contradictory  be  right?  We  say  not  ail  things; 
but  all  that  seem  so  to  us.  And  why  more  to  you  than  to  the 
Syrians  or  Egyptians;  than  to  me,  or  to  any  other  man?  Not  at 
all  more. 

Therefore,  what  seems  to  each  man  is  not  sufficient  to  deter- 
mine the  reality  of  a thing;  for  even  in  weights  and  measures  we 
are  not  satisfied  with  the  bare  appearance,  but  for  everything  we 
find  some  rule.  And  is  there,  then,  in  the  present  case  no  rule 
preferable  to  what  seems?  Is  it  possible  that  what  is  of  the  great- 
est necessity  in  human  life  should  be  left  incapable  of  determina- 
tion and  discovery? 

There  must  be  some  rule.  And  why  do  we  not  seek  and  dis- 
cover it,  and,  when  we  have  discovered,  ever  after  make  use  of  it, 
without  fail,  so  as  not  even  to  move  a finger  without  it?  For  this, 
I conceive,  is  what,  when  found,  will  cure  those  of  their  madness 
who  make  use  of  no  other  measure  but  their  own  perverted  way 
of  thinking.  Afterwards,  beginning  from  certain  known  and  de- 
terminate points,  we  may  make  use  of  general  principles,  properly 
applied  to  particulars. 

Thus,  what  is  the  subject  that  falls  under  our  inquiry  ? Plea- 


DISCOURSES 


141 

sure.  Bring  it  to  the  rule.  Throw  it  into  the  scale.  Must  good 
be  something  in  which  it  is  fit  to  confide,  and  to  which  we  may 
trust?  Yes.  Is  it  fit  to  trust  to  anything  unstable ? No.  Is  plea- 
sure, then,  a stable  thing?  No.  Take  it,  then,  and  throw  it  out 
of  the  scale,  and  drive  it  far  distant  from  the  place  of  good  things. 

But,  if  you  are  not  quick-sighted,  and  one  balance  is  insuffi- 
cient, bring  another.  Is  it  fit  to  be  elated  by  good  ? Yes.  Is  it  fit, 
then,  to  be  elated  by  a present  pleasure?  See  that  you  do  not 
say  it  is;  otherwise  I shall  not  think  you  so  much  as  worthy  to  use 
a scale.  Thus  are  things  judged  and  weighed,  when  we  have  the 
rules  ready.  This  is  the  part  of  philosophy,  to  examine,  and  fix 
the  rules ; and  to  make  use  of  them,  when  they  are  known,  is  the 
business  of  a wise  and  good  man. 


BOOK  III.  CHAPTER  III.  THE  CHIEF  CONCERN 
OF  A GOOD  MAN 

The  chief  concern  of  a wise  and  good  man  is  his  own  Reason* 
The  body  is  the  concern  of  a physician,  and  of  a gymnastic 
trainer;  and  the  fields,  of  the  husbandman.  The  business  of  a 
wise  and  good  man  is  to  use  the  phenomena  of  existence  con- 
formably to  Nature.  Now,  every  soul,  as  it  is  naturally  formed 
for  an  assent  to  truth,  a dissent  from  falsehood,  and  a suspense 
of  judgment  with  regard  to  things  uncertain,  so  it  is  moved  by 
a desire  of  good,  an  aversion  from  evil,  and  an  indifference  to 
what  is  neither  good  nor  evil.  For  as  a money-changer,  or  a 
gardener,  is  not  at  liberty  to  reject  Ceesar’s  coin,  but  when  once 
it  is  shown  is  obliged,  whether  he  will  or  not,  to  deliver  his  wares 
in  exchange  for  it,  so  is  it  with  the  soul.  Apparent  good  at  first 
sight  attracts,  and  evil  repels.  Nor  will  the  soul  any  more  reject 
an  evident  appearance  of  good,  than  Csesar’s  coin. 

Hence  depends  every  movement,  both  of  God  and  man;  and 
hence  good  is  preferred  to  every  obligation,  however  near.  My 
connection  is  not  with  my  father ; but  with  good.  Are  you  so  hard- 
hearted? Such  is  my  nature,  and  such  is  the  coin  which  God 
hath  given  me.  If  therefore  good  is  interpreted  to  be  anything 


142 


EPICTETUS 


but  what  is  fair  and  just,  away  go  father  and  brother  and  coun- 
try and  everything.  What ! Shall  I overlook  my  own  good,  and 
give  it  up  to  you ? For  what?  “I  am  your  father.”  But  not  my 
good.  ‘T  am  your  brother.”  But  not  my  good.  But  if  we  place 
it  in  a rightly  trained  Will,  good  must  then  consist  in  an  observ- 
ance of  the  several  relations  of  life;  and  then  he  who  gives  up 
mere  externals  acquires  good.  Your  father  deprives  you  of  your 
money ; but  he  does  not  hurt  you.  He  will  possess  more  land  than 
you,  as  much  more  as  he  pleases ; but  will  he  possess  more  honor, 
more  fidelity,  more  affection  ? Who  can  deprive  you  of  this  pos- 
session ? Not  even  Zeus ; for  he  did  not  will  it  so,  since  he  has  put 
this  good  into  my  own  power,  and  given  it  me,  like  his  own,  un- 
compelled, unrestrained,  and  unhindered.  But  when  any  one 
deals  in  coin  different  from  this,  then  whoever  shows  it  to  him, 
may  have  whatever  is  sold  for  it  in  return.  A thievish  proconsul 
comes  into  the  province.  What  coin  does  he  use  ? Silver.  Show 
it  him,  and  carry  off  what  you  please.  An  adulterer  comes.  What 
coin  does  he  use?  Women.  Take  the  coin,  says  one,  and  give 
me  this  trifle.  “ Give  it  me,  and  it  is  yours.”  Another  is  addicted 
to  other  debauchery;  give  him  but  his  coin,  and  take  what  you 
please.  Another  is  fond  of  hunting;  give  him  a fine  pony  or  puppy 
and  he  will  sell  you  for  it  what  you  will,  though  it  be  with  sighs 
and  groans.  For  there  is  that  within  which  controls  him,  and 
assumes  this  to  be  current  coin. 

In  this  manner  ought  every  one  chiefly  to  train  himself.  When 
you  go  out  in  the  morning,  examine  whomsoever  you  see  or  hear ; 
and  answer  as  if  to  a question.  What  have  you  seen  ? A hand- 
some person.  Apply  the  rule.  Is  this  a thing  controllable  by  Will 
or  uncontrollable  ? Uncontrollable.  Then  discard  it.  What  have 
you  seen  ? One  in  agony  for  the  death  of  a child.  Apply  the  rule. 
Death  is  inevitable.  Banish  this  despair,  then.  Has  a consul 
met  you  ? Apply  the  rule.  What  kind  of  thing  is  the  consular 
office,  — controllable  by  Will  or  uncontrollable  ? Uncontrollable. 
Throw  aside  this  too.  It  will  not  pass.  Cast  it  away;  it  is  no- 
thing to  you. 

If  we  acted  thus,  and  practised  in  this  manner  from  morning 
till  night,  by  Heaven ! something  would  be  done.  Whereas  now, 


DISCOURSES 


H3 


on  the  contrary,  we  are  allured  by  every  semblance,  half  asleep ; 
and  if  we  ever  awake,  it  is  only  a little  in  the  school ; but  as  soon 
as  we  go  out,  if  we  meet  any  one  grieving,  we  say,  “He  is  un- 
done.” If  a consul,  “ How  happy  is  he ! ” If  an  exile,  “ How  mis- 
erable!” If  a poor  man,  “How  wretched;  he  has  nothing  to 
eat!” 

These  miserable  prejudices,  then,  are  to  be  lopped  off;  and 
here  is  our  whole  strength  to  be  applied.  For  what  is  weeping 
and  groaning?  Prejudice.  What  is  misfortune?  Prejudice. 
What  is  sedition,  discord,  complaint,  accusation,  impiety,  levity  ? 
All  these  are  prejudices,  and  nothing  more;  and  prejudices  con- 
cerning things  uncontrollable  by  Will,  as  if  they  could  be  either 
good  or  evil.  Let  any  one  transfer  these  convictions  to  things 
controllable  by  Will,  and  I will  engage  that  he  will  preserve  his 
constancy,  whatever  be  the  state  of  things  about  him. 

The  soul  is  like  a vase  filled  with  water ; while  the  semblances 
of  things  fall  like  rays  upon  its  surface.  If  the  water  is  moved, 
the  ray  will  seem  to  be  moved  likewise,  though  it  is  in  reality 
without  motion.  When,  therefore,  any  one  is  seized  with  a giddi- 
ness in  his  head,  it  is  not  the  arts  and  virtues  that  are  bewildered, 
but  the  mind  in  which  they  lie;  when  this  recovers  its  composure, 
so  will  they  likewise. 


MARCUS  AURELIUS  ANTONINUS 

( 121-180 ) 

MEDITATIONS 


Translated  from  the  Greek  * by 
GEORGE  LONG 

BOOK  II.  THE  ORDERING  OF  HUMAN  LIFE 

I.  Begin  the  morning  by  saying  to  thyself,  I shall  meet  with  the 
busybody,  the  ungrateful,  arrogant,  deceitful,  envious,  unsocial. 
All  these  things  happen  to  them  by  reason  of  their  ignorance  of 
what  is  good  and  evil.  But  I who  have  seen  the  nature  of  the 
good  that  it  is  beautiful,  and  of  the  bad  that  it  is  ugly,  and  the 
nature  of  him  who  does  wrong,  that  it  is  akin  to  me,  not  [only] 
of  the  same  blood  or  seed,  but  that  it  participates  in  [the  same] 
intelligence  and  [the  same]  portion  of  the  divinity,  I can  neither 
be  injured  by  any  of  them,  for  no  one  can  fix  on  me  what  is  ugly, 
nor  can  I be  angry  with  my  kinsman,  nor  hate  him.  For  we  are 
made  for  co-operation,  like  feet,  like  hands,  like  eyelids,  like  the 
rows  of  the  upper  and  lower  teeth.  To  act  against  one  another 
then  is  contrary  to  nature;  and  it  is  acting  against  one  another 
to  be  vexed  and  to  turn  away. 

2.  Whatever  this  is  that  I am,  it  is  a little  flesh  and  breath, 
and  the  ruling  part.  Throw  away  thy  books;  no  longer  distract 
thyself : it  is  not  allowed ; but  as  if  thou  wast  now  dying,  despise 
the  flesh ; it  is  blood  and  bones  and  a network,  a contexture  of 
nerves,  veins,  and  arteries.  See  the  breath  also,  what  kind  of  a 
thing  it  is,  air,  and  not  always  the  same,  but  every  moment  sent 
out  and  again  sucked  in.  The  third  then  is  the  ruling  part : con- 
sider thus ; Thou  art  an  old  man ; no  longer  let  this  be  a slave,  no 
longer  be  pulled  by  the  strings  like  a puppet  to  unsocial  move- 
ments, no  longer  be  either  dissatisfied  with  thy  present  lot,  or 
shrink  from,  the  future. 

* From  Tct  els  eavr6v,  sive  Ad  Seipsum  Commentarii  Morales.  Reprinted  from 
The  Thoughts  of  the  Emperor  M.  Aurelius  Autonhius.  Translated  by  George 
Long.  London,  1862,  etc. 


MEDITATIONS 


145 


3.  All  that  is  from  the  gods  is  full  of  providence.  That  which 
is  from  fortune  is  not  separated  from  nature  or  without  an  in- 
terweaving and  involution  with  the  things  which  are  ordered  by 
providence.  From  thence  all  things  flow;  and  there  is  besides 
necessity,  and  that  which  is  for  the  advantage  of  the  whole  uni- 
verse, of  which  thou  art  a part.  But  that  is  good  for  every  part 
of  nature  which  the  nature  of  the  whole  brings,  and  what  serves 
to  maintain  this  nature.  Now  the  universe  is  preserved,  as  by  the 
changes  of  the  elements  so  by  the  changes  of  things  compounded 
of  the  elements.  Let  these  principles  be  enough  for  thee,  let  them 
always  be  fixed  opinions.  But  cast  away  the  thirst  after  books; 
that  thou  mayest  not  die  murmuring,  but  cheerfully,  truly,  and 
from  thy  heart  thankful  to  the  gods. 

4.  Remember  how  long  thou  hast  been  putting  off  these  things, 
and  how  often  thou  hast  received  an  opportunity  from  the  gods, 
and  yet  dost  not  use  it.  Thou  must  now  at  last  perceive  of  what 
universe  thou  art  a part,  and  of  what  administrator  of  the  uni- 
verse thy  existence  is  an  efflux,  and  that  a limit  of  time  is  fixed 
for  thee,  which  if  thou  dost  not  use  for  clearing  away  the  clouds 
from  thy  mind,  it  will  go  and  thou  wilt  go,  and  it  will  never  re- 
turn. 

5.  Every  moment  think  steadily  as  a Roman  and  a man  to 
do  what  thou  hast  in  hand  with  perfect  and  simple  dignity,  and 
feeling  of  affection,  and  freedom,  and  justice;  and  to  give  thyself 
relief  from  all  other  thoughts.  And  thou  wilt  give  thyself  relief, 
if  thou  doest  every  act  of  thy  life  as  if  it  were  the  last,  laying  aside 
all  carelessness  and  passionate  aversion  from  the  commands  of 
reason,  and  all  hypocrisy,  and  self-love,  and  discontent  with  the 
portion  which  has  been  given  to  thee.  Thou  seest  how  few  the 
things  are,  the  which  if  a man  lays  hold  of,  he  is  able  to  live  a life 
which  flows  in  quiet,  and  is  like  the  existence  of  the  gods;  for  the 
gods  on  their  part  will  require  nothing  more  from  him  who  ob- 
serves these  things. 

6.  Do  wrong'  to  thyself,  do  wrong  to  thyself,  my  soul;  but 
thou  wilt  no  longer  have  the  opportunity  of  honouring  thyself. 
Every  man’s  life  is  sufficient.  But  thine  is  nearly  finished,  though 

' Perhaps  it  should  be  “Thou  art  doing  violence  to  thyself,”  v&pi^eis,  not  ujSpife. 


146  MARCUS  AURELIUS 

thy  soul  reverences  not  Itself,  but  places  thy  felicity  in  the  souls 
of  others. 

7.  Do  the  things  external  which  fall  upon  thee  distract  thee  ? 
Give  thyself  time  to  learn  something  new  and  good,  and  cease  to 
be  whirled  around.  But  then  thou  must  also  avoid  being  carried 
about  the  other  way.  For  those  too  are  triflers  who  have  wearied 
themselves  in  life  by  their  activity,  and  yet  have  no  object  to 
which  to  direct  every  movement,  and,  in  a word,  all  their  thoughts. 

8.  Through  not  observing  what  is  in  the  mind  of  another  a 
man  has  seldom  been  seen  to  be  unhappy;  but  those  who  do  not 
observe  the  movements  of  their  own  minds  must  of  necessity 
be  unhappy. 

9.  This  thou  must  always  bear  in  mind,  what  is  the  nature 
of  the  whole,  and  what  is  my  nature,  and  how  this  is  related  to 
that,  and  what  kind  of  a part  it  is  of  what  kind  of  a whole;  and 
that  there  is  no  one  who  hinders  thee  from  always  doing  and  say- 
ing the  things  which  are  according  to  the  nature  of  which  thou 
art  a part. 

10.  Theophrastus,  in  his  comparison  of  bad  acts  — such  a 
comparison  as  one  would  make  in  accordance  with  the  common 
notions  of  mankind  — says,  like  a true  philosopher,  that  the 
offences  which  are  committed  through  desire  are  more  blameable 
than  those  which  are  committed  through  anger.  For  he  who  is 
excited  by  anger  seems  to  turn  away  from  reason  with  a certain 
pain  and  unconscious  contraction;  but  he  who  offends  through 
desire,  being  overpowered  by  pleasure,  seems  to  be  in  a manner 
more  intemperate  and  more  womanish  in  his  offences.  Rightly 
then,  and  in  a way  worthy  of  philosophy,  he  said  that  the  offence 
which  is  committed  with  pleasure  is  more  blameable  than  that 
which  is  committed  with  pain;  and  on  the  whole  the  one  is  more 
like  a person  who  has  been  first  wronged  and  through  pain  is 
compelled  to  be  angry ; but  the  other  is  moved  by  his  own  impulse 
to  do  wrong,  being  carried  towards  doing  something  by  desire. 

11.  Since  it  is  possible^  that  thou  mayest  depart  from  life  this 
very  moment,  regulate  every  act  and  thought  accordingly.  But 

‘ Or  it  may  mean  “since  it  is  in  thy  power  to  depart;”  which  gives  a meaning 
somewhat  different. 


MEDITATIONS 


147 


to  go  away  from  among  men,  if  there  are  gods,  is  not  a thing  to 
be  afraid  of,  for  the  gods  will  not  involve  thee  in  evil ; but  if  in- 
deed they  do  not  exist,  or  if  they  have  no  concern  about  human 
affairs,  what  is  it  to  me  to  live  in  a universe  devoid  of  gods  or 
devoid  of  providence?  But  in  truth  they  do  exist,  and  they  do 
care  for  human  things,  and  they  have  put  all  the  means  in  man’s 
power  to  enable  him  not  to  fall  into  real  evils.  And  as  to  the  rest, 
if  there  was  anything  evil,  they  would  have  provided  for  this  also, 
that  it  should  be  altogether  in  a man’s  power  not  to  fall  into  it. 
Now  that  which  does  not  make  a man  worse,  how  can  it  make 
a man’s  life  worse  ? But  neither  through  ignorance,  nor  having 
the  knowledge  but  not  the  power  to  guard  against  or  correct 
these  things,  is  it  possible  that  the  nature  of  the  universe  has 
overlooked  them;  nor  is  it  possible  that  it  has  made  so  great  a 
mistake,  either  through  want  of  power  or  want  of  skill,  that  good 
and  evil  should  happen  indiscriminately  to  the  good  and  the  bad. 
But  death  certainly,  and  life,  honour  and  dishonour,  pain  and 
pleasure,  all  these  things  equally  happen  to  good  men  and  bad, 
being  things  which  make  us  neither  better  nor  worse.  Therefore 
they  are  neither  good  nor  evil. 

12.  How  quickly  all  things  disappear,  in  the  universe  the 
bodies  themselves,  but  in  time  the  remembrance  of  them;  what 
is  the  nature  of  all  sensible  things,  and  particularly  those  which 
attract  with  the  bait  of  pleasure  or  terrify  by  pain,  or  are  noised 
abroad  by  vapoury  fame ; how  worthless,  and  contemptible,  and 
sordid,  and  perishable,  and  dead  they  are  — all  this  it  is  the  part 
of  the  intellectual  faculty  to  observe.  To  observe  too  who  these 
are  whose  opinions  and  voices  give  reputation;  what  death  is, 
and  the  fact  that,  if  a man  looks  at  it  in  itself,  and  by  the  abstract- 
ive power  of  reflection  resolves  into  their  parts  all  the  things 
which  present  themselves  to  the  imagination  in  it,  he  will  then 
consider  it  to  be  nothing  else  than  an  operation  of  nature;  and 
if  any  one  is  afraid  of  an  operation  of  nature,  he  is  a child.  This, 
however,  is  not  only  an  operation  of  nature,  but  it  is  also  a thing 
which  conduces  to  the  purposes  of  nature.  To  observe  too  how 
man  comes  near  to  the  deity,  and  by  what  part  of  him,  and  when 
this  part  of  man  is  so  disposed. 


MARCUS  AURELIUS 


148 

13.  Nothing  is  more  wretched  than  a man  who  traverses  every- 
thing in  a round,  and  pries  into  the  things  beneath  the  earth,  as 
the  poet  says,  and  seeks  by  conjecture  what  is  in  the  minds  of  his 
neighbours,  without  perceiving  that  it  is  sufficient  to  attend  to 
the  daemon  within  him,  and  to  reverence  it  sincerely.  And  rever- 
ence of  the  daemon  consists  in  keeping  it  pure  from  passion  and 
thoughtlessness,  and  dissatisfaction  with  what  comes  from  gods 
and  men.  For  the  things  from  the  gods  merit  veneration  for  their 
excellence;  and  the  things  from  men  should  be  dear  to  us  by  rea- 
son of  kinship;  and  sometimes  even,  in  a manner,  they  move  our 
pity  by  reason  of  men’s  ignorance  of  good  and  bad;  this  defect 
being  not  less  than  that  which  deprives  us  of  the  power  of  dis- 
tinguishing things  that  are  white  and  black. 

14.  Though  thou  shouldest  be  going  to  live  three  thousand 
years,  and  as  many  times  ten  thousand  years,  still  remember  that 
no  man  loses  any  other  life  than  this  which  he  now  lives,  nor  lives 
any  other  than  this  which  he  now  loses.  The  longest  and  shortest 
are  thus  brought  to  the  same.  For  the  present  is  the  same  to  all, 
though  that  which  perishes  is  not  the  same;  and  so  that  which  is 
lost  appears  to  be  a mere  moment.  For  a man  Cannot  lose  either 
the  past  or  the  future : for  what  a man  has  not,  how  can  any  one 
take  this  from  him?  These  two  things  then  thou  must  bear  in 
mind;  the  one,  that  all  things  from  eternity  are  of  like  forms  and 
come  round  in  a circle,  and  that  it  makes  no  difference  whether 
a man  shall  see  the  same  things  during  a hundred  years  or  two 
hundred,  or  an  infinite  time;  and  the  second,  that  the  longest 
liver  and  he  who  will  die  soonest  lose  just  the  same.  For  the  pre- 
sent is  the  only  thing  of  which  a man  can  be  deprived,  if  it  is  true 
that  this  is  the  only  thing  which  he  has,  and  that  a man  cannot 
lose  a thing  if  he  has  it  not. 

15.  Remember  that  all  is  opinion.  For  what  was  said  by  the 
Cynic  Monimus  is  manifest : and  manifest  too  is  the  use  of  what 
was  said,  if  a man  receives  what  may  be  got  out  of  it  as  far  as  it 
is  true. 

16.  The  soul  of  man  does  violence  to  itself,  first  of  all,  when 
it  becomes  an  abscess  and,  as  it  were,  a tumour  on  the  uinverse, 
so  far  as  it  can.  For  to  be  vexed  at  anything  which  happens  is  a 


MEDITATIONS 


149 


separation  of  ourselves  from  nature,  in  some  part  of  which  the 
natures  of  all  other  things  are  contained.  In  the  next  place,  the 
soul  does  violence  to  itself  when  it  turns  away  from  any  man,  or 
even  moves  towards  him  with  the  intention  of  injuring,  such  as 
are  the  souls  of  those  who  are  angry.  In  the  third  place,  the  soul 
does  violence  to  itself  when  it  is  overpowered  by  pleasure  or  by 
pain.  Fourthly,  when  it  plays  a part,  and  does  or  says  anything 
insincerely  and  untruly.  Fifthly,  when  it  allows  any  act  of  its 
own  and  any  movement  to  be  without  an  aim,  and  does  anything 
thoughtlessly  and  without  considering  what  it  is,  it  being  right 
that  even  the  smallest  things  be  done  with  reference  to  an  end ; 
and  the  end  of  rational  animals  is  to  follow  the  reason  and  the 
law  of  the  most  ancient  city  and  polity. 

17.  Of  human  life  the  time  is  a point,  and  the  substance  is  in 
a flux,  and  the  perception  dull,  and  the  composition  of  the  whole 
body  subject  to  putrefaction,  and  the  soul  a whirl,  and  fortune 
hard  to  divine,  and  fame  a thing  devoid  of  judgment.  And,  to 
say  all  in  a word,  everything  which  belongs  to  the  body  is  a 
stream,  and  what  belongs  to  the  soul  is  a dream  and  vapour,  and 
life  is  a warfare  and  a stranger’s  sojourn,  and  after- fame  is  ob- 
livion. What  then  is  that  which  is  able  to  conduct  a man  ? One 
thing  and  only  one,  philosophy.  But  this  consists  in  keeping  the 
daemon  within  a man  free  from  violence  and  unharmed,  superior 
to  pains  and  pleasures,  doing  nothing  without  a purpose,  nor  yet 
falsely  and  with  hypocrisy,  not  feeling  the  need  of  another  man’s 
doing  or  not  doing  anything;  and  besides,  accepting  all  that 
happens,  and  all  that  is  allotted,  as  coming  from  thence,  wher- 
ever it  is,  from  whence  he  himself  came;  and,  finally,  waiting 
for  death  with  a cheerful  mind,  as  being  nothing  else  than  a dis- 
solution of  the  elements  of  which  every  living  being  is  com- 
pounded. But  if  there  is  no  harm  to  the  elements  themselves  in 
each  continually  changing  into  another,  why  should  a man  have 
any  apprehension  about  the  change  and  dissolution  of  all  the 
elements?  For  it  is  according  to  nature,  and  nothing  is  evil  which 
is  according  to  nature. 

This  in  Carnuntum.^ 

^ Carnuntum  was  about  thirty  miles  east  of  Vindobona  (Vienna). 


MARCUS  AURELIUS 


150 

BOOK  X.  LIFE  CONFORMABLE  TO  NATURE 

1.  Wilt  thou,  then,  my  soul,  never  be  good  and  simple  and  one 
and  naked,  more  manifest  than  the  body  which  surrounds  thee  ? 
Wilt  thou  never  enjoy  an  affectionate  and  contented  disposition? 
Wilt  thou  never  be  full  and  without  a want  of  any  kind,  longing 
for  nothing  more,  nor  desiring  anything,  either  animate  or  inani- 
mate, for  the  enjoyment  of  pleasures?  nor  yet  desiring  time 
wherein  thou  shalt  have  longer  enjoyment,  or  place,  or  pleasant 
climate,  or  society  of  men  with  whom  thou  mayst  live  in  har- 
mony? but  wilt  thou  be  satisfied  with  thy  present  condition,  and 
pleased  with  all  that  is  about  thee,  and  wilt  thou  convince  thyself 
that  thou  hast  everything  and  that  it  comes  from  the  gods,  that 
everything  is  well  for  thee,  and  will  be  well  whatever  shall  please 
them,  and  whatever  they  shall  give  for  the  conservation  of  the 
perfect  living  being,  the  good  and  just  and  beautiful,  which  gen- 
erates and  holds  together  all  things,  and  contains  and  embraces 
all  things  which  are  dissolved  for  the  production  of  other  like 
things  ? Wilt  thou  never  be  such  that  thou  shalt  so  dwell  in  com- 
munity with  gods  and  men  as  neither  to  find  fault  with  them  at 
all,  nor  to  be  condemned  by  them? 

2.  Observe  what  thy  nature  requires,  so  far  as  thou  art  gov- 
erned by  nature  only : then  do  it  and  accept  it,  if  thy  nature,  so 
far  as  thou  art  a living  being,  shall  not  be  made  worse  by  it. 
And  next  thou  must  observe  what  thy  nature  requires  so  far  as 
thou  art  a living  being.  And  all  this  thou  mayst  allow  thyself,  if 
thy  nature,  so  far  as  thou  art  a rational  animal,  shall  not  be  made 
worse  by  it.  But  the  rational  animal  is  consequently  also  a po- 
litical [social]  animal.  Use  these  rules,  then,  and  trouble  thyself 
about  nothing  else. 

3.  Everything  which  happens  either  happens  in  such  wise  as 
thou  art  formed  by  nature  to  bear  it,  or  as  thou  art  not  formed 
by  nature  to  bear  it.  If,  then,  it  happens  to  thee  in  such  a way 
as  thou  art  formed  by  nature  to  bear  it,  do  not  complain,  but  bear 
it  as  thou  art  formed  by  nature  to  bear  it.  But  if  it  happens  in 
such  wise  as  thou  art  not  formed  by  nature  to  bear  it,  do  not 


MEDITATIONS 


151 

complain,  for  it  will  perish  after  it  has  consumed  thee.  Remem- 
ber, however,  that  thou  art  formed  by  nature  to  bear  everything, 
with  respect  to  which  it  depends  on  thy  own  opinion  to  make  it 
endurable  and  tolerable,  by  thinking  that  it  is  either  thy  interest 
or  thy  duty  to  do  this. 

4.  If  a man  is  mistaken,  instruct  him  kindly  and  show  him  his 
error.  But  if  thou  art  not  able,  blame  thyself,  or  blame  not  even 
thyself. 

5.  Whatever  may  happen  to  thee,  it  was  prepared  for  thee  from 
all  eternity ; and  the  implication  of  causes  was  from  eternity  spin- 
ning the  thread  of  thy  being,  and  of  that  which  is  incident  to  it. 

6.  Whether  the  universe  is  [a  concourse  of]  atoms,  or  nature 
[is  a system],  let  this  first  be  established,  that  I am  a part  of  the 
whole  which  is  governed  by  nature;  next,  I am  in  a manner  inti- 
mately related  to  the  parts  which  are  of  the  same  kind  with  my- 
self. For  remembering  this,  inasmuch  as  I am  a part,  I shall  be 
discontented  with  none  of  the  things  which  are  assigned  to  me 
out  of  the  whole;  for  nothing  is  injurious  to  the  part,  if  it  is  for 
the  advantage  of  the  whole.  For  the  whole  contains  nothing 
which  is  not  for  its  advantage;  and  all  natures  indeed  have  this 
common  principle,  but  the  nature  of  the  universe  has  this  prin- 
ciple besides,  that  it  cannot  be  compelled  even  by  any  external 
cause  to  generate  anything  harmful  to  itself.  By  remembering, 
then,  that  I am  a part  of  such  a whole,  I shall  be  content  with 
everything  that  happens.  And  inasmuch  as  I am  in  a manner 
intimately  related  to  the  parts  which  are  of  the  same  kind  with 
myself,  I shall  do  nothing  unsocial,  but  I shall  rather  direct  my- 
self to  the  things  which  are  of  the  same  kind  with  myself,  and  I 
shall  turn  all  my  efforts  to  the  common  interest,  and  divert  them 
from  the  contrary.  Now,  if  these  things  are  done  so,  life  must 
flow  on  happily,  just  as  thou  mayst  observe  that  the  life  of  a citi- 
zen is  happy,  who  continues  a course  of  action  which  is  advan- 
tageous to  his  fellow-citizens,  and  is  content  with  whatever  the 
state  may  assign  to  him. 

7.  The  parts  of  the  whole,  everything,  I mean,  which  is  natu- 
rally comprehended  in  the  universe,  must  of  necessity  perish; 
but  let  this  be  understood  in  this  sense,  that  they  must  undergo 


152 


MARCUS  AURELIUS 


change.  But  if  this  is  naturally  both  an  evil  and  a necessity  for 
the  parts,  the  whole  would  not  continue  to  exist  in  a good  con- 
dition, the  parts  being  subject  to  change  and  constituted  so  as 
to  perish  in  various  ways.  For  whether  did  nature  herself  de- 
sign to  do  evil  to  the  things  which  are  parts  of  herself,  and  to 
make  them  subject  to  evil  and  of  necessity  fall  into  evil,  or  have 
such  results  happened  without  her  knowing  it  ? Both  these  sup- 
positions, indeed,  are  incredible.  But  if  a man  should  even  drop 
the  term  Nature  [as  an  efficient  power],  and  should  speak  of  these 
things  as  natural,  even  then  it  would  be  ridiculous  to  affirm  at 
the  same  time  that  the  parts  of  the  whole  are  in  their  nature  sub- 
ject to  change,  and  at  the  same  time  to  be  surprised  or  vexed  as 
if  something  were  happening  contrary  to  nature,  particularly  as 
the  dissolution  of  things  is  into  those  things  of  which  each  thing 
is  composed.  For  there  is  either  a dispersion  of  the  elements  out 
of  which  everything  has  been  compounded,  or  a change  from 
the  solid  to  the  earthy  and  from  the  airy  to  the  aerial,  so  that  these 
parts  are  taken  back  into  the  universal  reason,  whether  this  at 
certain  periods  is  consumed  by  fire  or  renewed  by  eternal  changes. 
And  do  not  imagine  that  the  solid  and  the  airy  part  belong  to 
thee  from  the  time  of  generation.  For  all  this  received  its  accre- 
tion only  yesterday  and  the  day  before,  as  one  may  say,  from  the 
food  and  the  air  which  is  inspired.  This,  then,  which  has  received 
[the  accretion],  changes,  not  that  which  thy  mother  brought  forth. 
But  suppose  that  this  [which  thy  mother  brought  forth]  implicates 
thee  very  much  with  that  other  part,  which  has  the  peculiar  qual- 
ity [of  change],  this  is  nothing  in  fact  in  the  way  of  objection  to 
what  is  said. 

8.  When  thou  hast  assumed  these  names,  good,  modest,  true, 
rational,  a man  of  equanimity,  and  magnanimous,  take  care  that 
thou  dost  not  change  these  names ; and  if  thou  shouldst  lose  them, 
quickly  return  to  them.  And  remember  that  the  term  Rational 
was  intended  to  signify  a discriminating  attention  to  every  sev- 
eral thing  and  freedom  from  negligence;  and  that  Equanimity  is 
the  voluntary  acceptance  of  the  things  which  are  assigned  to  thee 
by  the  common  nature;  and  that  Magnanimity  is  the  elevation  of 
the  intelligent  part  above  the  pleasurable  or  painful  sensations  of 


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the  flesh,  and  above  that  poor  thing  called  fame,  and  death,  and 
all  such  things.  If,  then,  thou  maintainest  thyself  in  the  posses- 
sion of  these  names,  without  desiring  to  be  called  by  these  names 
by  others,  thou  wilt  be  another  person  and  wilt  enter  on  another 
life.  For  to  continue  to  be  such  as  thou  hast  hitherto  been,  and  to 
be  torn  in  pieces  and  defiled  in  such  a life,  is  the  character  of  a 
very  stupid  man  and  one  overfond  of  his  life,  and  like  those  half- 
devoured  fighters  with  wild  beasts,  who  though  covered  with 
wounds  and  gore,  still  intreat  to  be  kept  to  the  following  day, 
though  they  will  be  exposed  in  the  same  state  to  the  same  claws 
and  bites.  Therefore  fix  thyself  in  the  possession  of  these  few 
names : and  if  thou  art  able  to  abide  in  them,  abide  as  if  thou  wast 
removed  to  certain  islands  of  the  Happy.  But  if  thou  shalt  per- 
ceive that  thou  fallest  out  of  them  and  dost  not  maintain  thy  hold, 
go  courageously  into  some  nook  where  thou  shalt  maintain  them, 
or  even  depart  at  once  from  life,  not  in  passion,  but  with  sim- 
plicity and  freedom  and  modesty,  after  doing  this  one  [laudable] 
thing  at  least  in  thy  life,  to  have  gone  out  of  it  thus.  In  order, 
however,  to  the  remembrance  of  these  names,  it  will  greatly  help 
thee,  if  thou  rememberest  the  gods,  and  that  they  wish  not  to  be 
flattered,  but  wish  all  reasonable  beings  to  be  made  like  them- 
selves ; and  if  thou  rememberest  that  what  does  the  work  of  a fig- 
tree  is  a fig-tree,  and  that  what  does  the  work  of  a dog  is  a dog, 
and  that  what  does  the  work  of  a bee  is  a bee,  and  that  what  does 
the  work  of  a man  is  a man. 

9.  Mimi,  war,  astonishment,  torpor,  slavery,  will  daily  wipe 
out  those  holy  principles  of  thine.  How  many  things  without 
studying  nature  dost  thou  imagine,  and  how  many  dost  thou 
neglect  ? But  it  is  thy  duty  so  to  look  on  and  so  to  do  everything, 
that  at  the  same  time  the  power  of  dealing  with  circumstances  is 
perfected,  and  the  contemplative  faculty  is  exercised,  and  the 
confidence  which  comes  from  the  knowledge  of  each  several 
thing  is  maintained  without  showing  it,  but  yet  not  concealed. 
For  when  wilt  thou  enjoy  simplicity,  when  gravity,  and  when 
the  knowledge  of  every  several  thing,  both  what  it  is  in  sub- 
stance, and  what  place  it  has  in  the  universe,  and  how  long 
it  is  formed  to  exist  and  of  what  things  it  is  compounded,  and  to 


154  MARCUS  AURELIUS 

whom  it  can  belong,  and  who  are  able  both  to  give  it  and  take 
it  away? 

10.  A spider  is  proud  when  it  has  caught  a fly,  and  another 
when  he  has  caught  a poor  hare,  and  another  when  he  has  taken 
a little  fish  in  a net,  and  another  when  he  has  taken  wild  boars, 
and  another  when  he  has  taken  bears,  and  another  when  he  has 
taken  Sarmatians.  Are  not  these  robbers,  if  thou  examinest  their 
opinions  ? 

11.  Acquire  the  contemplative  way  of  seeing  how  all  things 
change  into  one  another,  and  constantly  attend  to  it,  and  exer- 
cise thyself  about  this  part  [of  philosophy].  For  nothing  is  so 
much  adapted  to  produce  magnanimity.  Such  a man  has  put 
off  the  body,  and  as  he  sees  that  he  must,  no  one  knows  how  soon, 
go  away  from  among  men  and  leave  everything  here,  he  gives  him- 
self up  entirely  to  just  doing  in  all  his  actions,  and  in  everything 
else  that  happens  he  resigns  himself  to  the  universal  nature.  But 
as  to  what  any  man  shall  say  or  think  about  him  or  do  against 
him,  he  never  even  thinks  of  it,  being  himself  contented  with 
these  two  things,  with  acting  justly  in  what  he  now  does,  and 
being  satisfied  with  what  is  now  assigned  to  him;  and  he  lays 
aside  all  distracting  and  busy  pursuits,  and  desires  nothing  else 
than  to  accomplish  the  straight  course  through  the  law,  and  by 
accomplishing  the  straight  course  to  follow  God. 

12.  What  need  is  there  of  suspicious  fear,  since  it  is  in  thy 
power  to  inquire  what  ought  to  be  done?  And  if  thou  seest  clear, 
go  by  this  way  content,  without  turning  back:  but  if  thou  dost 
not  see  clear,  stop  and  take  the  best  advisers.  But  if  any  other 
things  oppose  thee,  go  on  according  to  thy  powers  with  due  con- 
sideration, keeping  to  that  which  appears  to  be  just.  For  it  is 
best  to  reach  this  object,  and  if  thou  dost  fail,  let  thy  failure  be 
in  attempting  this.  He  who  follows  reason  in  all  things  is  both 
tranquil  and  active  at  the  same  time,  and  also  cheerful  and  col- 
lected. 

13.  Inquire  of  thyself  as  soon  as  thou  wakest  from  sleep 
whether  it  will  make  any  difference  to  thee,  if  another  does  what 
is  just  and  right.  It  will  make  no  difference. 

Thou  hast  not  forgotten,  I suppose,  that  those  who  assume 


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155 


arrogant  airs  in  bestowing  their  praise  or  blame  on  others,  are 
such  as  they  are  at  bed  and  at  board,  and  thou  hast  not  forgot- 
ten what  they  do,  and  what  they  avoid  and  what  they  pursue, 
and  how  they  steal  and  how  they  rob,  not  with  hands  and  feet, 
but  with  their  most  valuable  part,  by  means  of  which  there  is 
produced,  when  a man  chooses,  fidelity,  modesty,  truth,  law,  a 
good  daemon  [happiness]? 

14.  To  her  who  gives  and  takes  back  all,  to  nature,  the  man 
who  is  instructed  and  modest  says.  Give  what  thou  wilt;  take 
back  what  thou  wilt.  And  he  says  this  not  proudly,  but  obe- 
diently and  well  pleased  with  her. 

15.  Short  is  the  little  which  remains  to  thee  of  life.  Live  as  on 
a mountain.  For  it  makes  no  difference  whether  a man  lives 
there  or  here,  if  he  lives  everywhere  in  the  world  as  in  a state 
[political  community].  Let  men  see,  let  them  know  a real  man 
who  lives  according  to  nature.  If  they  cannot  endure  him,  let 
them  kill  him.  For  that  is  better  than  to  live  thus  [as  men  do]. 

16.  No  longer  talk  at  all  about  the  kind  of  man  that  a good 
man  ought  to  be,  but  be  such. 

17.  Constantly  contemplate  the  whole  of  time  and  the  whole 
of  substance,  and  consider  that  all  individual  things  as  to  sub- 
stance are  a grain  of  a fig,  and  as  to  time,  the  turning  of  a gimlet. 

18.  Look  at  everything  that  exists,  and  observe  that  it  is  al- 
ready in  dissolution  and  in  change,  and  as  it  were  putrefaction 
or  dispersion,  or  that  everything  is  so  constituted  by  nature  as 
to  die. 

19.  Consider  what  men  are  when  they  are  eating,  sleeping, 
generating,  easing  themselves  and  so  forth.  Then  what  kind  of 
men  they  are  when  they  are  imperious  and  arrogant,  or  angry 
and  scolding  from  their  elevated  place.  But  a short  time  ago  to 
how  many  they  were  slaves  and  for  what  things;  and  after  a little 
time  consider  in  what  a condition  they  will  be. 

20.  That  is  for  the  good  of  each  thing,  which  the  universal 
nature  brings  to  each.  And  it  is  for  its  good  at  the  time  when 
nature  brings  it. 

21.  “The  earth  loves  the  shower;”  and  “the  solemn  aether 
loves:”  and  the  universe  loves  to  make  whatever  is  about  to  be. 


MARCUS  AURELIUS 


156 

I say  then  to  the  universe,  that  I love  as  thou  lovest.  And  is  not 
this  too  said,  that  “this  or  that  loves  [is  wont]  to  be  produced?” 

22.  Either  thou  livest  here  and  hast  already  accustomed  thy- 
self to  it,  or  thou  art  going  away,  and  this  was  thy  own  will;  or 
thou  art  dying  and  hast  discharged  thy  duty.  But  besides  these 
things  there  is  nothing.  Be  of  good  cheer,  then. 

23.  Let  this  always  be  plain  to  thee,  that  this  piece  of  land  is 
like  any  other;  and  that  all  things  here  are  the  same  with  things 
on  the  top  of  a mountain,  or  on  the  sea-shore,  or  wherever  thou 
choosest  to  be.  For  thou  wilt  find  just  what  Plato  says,^  Dwelling 
within  the  walls  of  a city  as  in  a shepherd’s  fold  on  a mountain. 

24.  What  is  my  ruling  faculty  now  to  me  ? and  of  what  nature 
am  I now  making  it?  and  for  what  purpose  am  I now  using  it? 
is  it  void  of  understanding  ? is  it  loosed  and  rent  asunder  from 
social  life  ? is  it  melted  into  and  mixed  with  the  poor  flesh  so  as 
to  move  together  with  it? 

25.  He  who  flies  from  his  master  is  a runaway;  but  the  law 
is  master,  and  he  who  breaks  the  law  is  a runaway.  And  he 
also  who  is  grieved  or  angry  or  afraid,  is  dissatisfied  because 
something  has  been  or  is  or  shall  be  of  the  things  which  are  ap- 
pointed by  him  who  rules  all  things,  and  he  is  Law,  and  assigns 
to  every  man  what  is  fit.  Pie  then  who  fears  or  is  grieved  or  is 
angry  is  a runaway. 

26.  A man  deposits  seed  in  a womb  and  goes  away,  and  then 
another  cause  takes  it,  and  labours  on  it  and  makes  a child. 
What  a thing  from  such  a material ! Again,  the  child  passes  food 
down  through  the  throat,  and  then  another  cause  takes  it  and 
makes  perception  and  motion,  and  in  fine  life  and  strength  and 
other  things;  how  many  and  how  strange!  Observe  then  the 
things  which  are  produced  in  such  a hidden  way,  and  see  the 
power  just  as  we  see  the  power  which  carries  things  downwards 
and  upwards,  not  with  the  eyes,  but  still  no  less  plainly. 

27.  Constantly  consider  how  all  things  such  as  they  now  are, 
in  time  past  also  were;  and  consider  that  they  will  be  the  same 
again.  And  place  before  thy  eyes  entire  dramas  and  stages  of  the 
same  form,  whatever  thou  hast  learned  from  thy  experience  or 

^ Plato,  Themt.  174  D.  E. 


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from  older  history;  for  example,  the  whole  court  of  Hadrianus, 
and  the  whole  court  of  Antoninus,  and  the  whole  court  of  Philip- 
pus,  Alexander,  Croesus;  for  all  those  were  such  dramas  as  we 
see  now,  only  with  different  actors. 

28.  Imagine  every  man  who  is  grieved  at  anything  or  discon- 
tented to  be  like  a pig  which  is  sacrificed  and  kicks  and  screams. 

Like  this  pig  also  is  he  who  on  his  bed  in  silence  laments  the 
bonds  in  which  we  are  held.  And  consider  that  only  to  the  ra- 
tional animal  is  it  given  to  follow  voluntarily  what  happens ; but 
simply  to  follow  is  a necessity  imposed  on  all. 

29.  Severally  on  the  occasion  of  everything  that  thou  doest, 
pause  and  ask  thyself,  if  death  is  a dreadful  thing  because  it  de- 
prives thee  of  this. 

30.  When  thou  art  offended  at  any  man’s  fault,  forthwith 
turn  to  thyself  and  reflect  in  what  like  manner  thou  dost  err  thy- 
self; for  example,  in  thinking  that  money  is  a good  thing,  or  plea- 
sure, or  a bit  of  reputation,  and  the  like.  For  by  attending  to  this 
thou  wilt  quickly  forget  thy  anger,  if  this  consideration  also  is 
added,  that  the  man  is  compelled : for  what  else  could  he  do  ? or, 
if  thou  art  able,  take  away  from  him  the  compulsion. 

31.  When  thou  hast  seen  Satyron  the  Socratic,  think  of  either 
Eutyches  or  Hymen,  and  when  thou  hast  seen  Euphrates,  think 
of  Eutychion  or  Silvanus,  and  when  thou  hast  seen  Alciphron 
think  of  Tropaeophorus,  and  when  thou  hast  seen  Xenophon 
think  of  Crito  or  Severus,  and  when  thou  hast  looked  on  thyself, 
think  of  any  other  Caesar,  and  in  the  case  of  every  one  do  in  like 
manner.  Then  let  this  thought  be  in  thy  mind.  Where  then  are 
those  men?  Nowhere,  or  nobody  knows  where.  For  thus  con- 
tinuously thou  wilt  look  at  human  things  as  smoke  and  nothing 
at  all ; especially  if  thou  reflectest  at  the  same  time  that  what  has 
once  changed  will  never  exist  again  in  the  infinite  duration  of 
time.  But  thou,  in  what  a brief  space  of  time  is  thy  existence? 
And  why  art  thou  not  content  to  pass  through  this  short  time 
in  an  orderly  way?  What  matter  and  opportunity  [for  thy  ac- 
tivity] art  thou  avoiding?  For  what  else  are  all  these  things,  ex- 
cept exercises  for  the  reason,  when  it  has  viewed  carefully  and 
by  examination  into  their  nature  the  things  which  happen  in 


MARCUS  AURELIUS 


158 

life?  Persevere  then  until  thou  shalt  have  made  these  things  thy 
own,  as  the  stomach  which  is  strengthened  makes  all  things  its 
own,  as  the  blazing  fire  makes  flame  and  brightness  out  of  every- 
thing that  is  thrown  into  it. 

32.  Let  it  not  be  in  any  man’s  power  to  say  truly  of  thee  that 
thou  art  not  simple  or  that  thou  art  not  good;  but  let  him  be  a liar 
whoever  shall  think  anything  of  this  kind  about  thee;  and  this  is 
altogether  in  thy  power.  For  who  is  he  that  shall  hinder  thee  from 
being  good  and  simple  ? Do  thou  only  determine  to  live  no  longer, 
unless  thou  shalt  be  such.  For  neither  does  reason  allow  [thee 
to  live],  if  thou  art  not  such. 

33.  What  is  that  which  as  to  this  material  [our  life]  can  be  done 
or  said  in  the  way  most  conformable  to  reason?  For  whatever 
this  may  be,  it  is  in  thy  power  to  do  it  or  to  say  it,  and  do  not 
make  excuses  that  thou  art  hindered.  Thou  wilt  not  cease  to  la- 
ment till  thy  mind  is  in  such  a condition  that,  what  luxury  is  to 
those  who  enjoy  pleasure,  such  shall  be  to  thee,  in  the  matter 
which  is  subjected  and  presented  to  thee,  the  doing  of  the  things 
which  are  conformable  to  man’s  constitution;  for  a man  ought  to 
consider  as  an  enjoyment  everything  which  it  is  in  his  power  to 
do  according  to  his  own  nature.  And  it  is  in  his  power  every- 
where. Now,  it  is  not  given  to  a cylinder  to  move  everywhere  by 
its  own  motion,  nor  yet  to  water  nor  to  fire,  nor  to  anything  else 
which  is  governed  by  nature  or  an  irrational  soul,  for  the  things 
which  check  them  and  stand  in  the  way  are  many.  But  intelli- 
gence and  reason  are  able  to  go  through  everything  that  opposes 
them,  and  in  such  manner  as  they  are  formed  by  nature  and  as 
they  choose.  Place  before  thy  eyes  this  facility  with  which  the 
reason  will  be  carried  through  all  things,  as  fire  upwards,  as  a 
stone  downwards,  as  a cylinder  down  an  inclined  surface,  and 
seek  for  nothing  further.  For  all  other  obstacles  either  affect  the 
body  only  which  is  a dead  thing;  or,  except  through  opinion  and 
the  yielding  of  the  reason  itself,  they  do  not  crush  nor  do  any 
harm  of  any  kind;  for  if  they  did,  he  who  felt  it  would  immedi- 
ately become  bad.  Now,  in  the  case  of  all  things  which  have  a 
certain  constitution,  whatever  harm  may  happen  to  any  of  them, 
that  which  is  so  affected  becomes  consequently  worse;  but  in  the 


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like  case,  a man  becomes  both  better,  if  one  may  say  so,  and  more 
worthy  of  praise  by  making  a right  use  of  these  accidents.  And 
finally  remember  that  nothing  harms  him  who  is  really  a citizen, 
which  does  not  harm  the  state;  nor  yet  does  anything  harm  the 
state,  which  does  not  harm  law  [order];  and  of  these  things  which 
are  called  misfortunes  not  one  harms  law.  What  then  does  not 
harm  law  does  not  harm  either  state  or  citizen. 

34.  To  him  who  is  penetrated  by  true  principles  even  the  brief- 
est precept  is  sufficient,  and  any  common  precept,  to  remind  him 
that  he  should  be  free  from  grief  and  fear.  For  example  — 

Leaves,  some  the  wind  scatters  on  the  ground  — 

So  is  the  race  of  men.^ 

Leaves,  also,  are  thy  children ; and  leaves,  too,  are  they  who  cry 
out  as  if  they  were  worthy  of  credit  and  bestow  their  praise,  or  on 
the  contrary  curse,  or  secretly  blame  and  sneer;  and  leaves,  in 
like  manner,  are  those  who  shall  receive  and  transmit  a man’s 
fame  to  after-times.  For  all  such  things  as  these  “are  produced 
in  the  season  of  spring,”  as  the  poet  says;  then  the  wind  casts 
them  down ; then  the  forest  produces  other  leaves  in  their  places. 
But  a brief  existence  is  common  to  all  things,  and  yet  thou  avoid- 
est  and  pursuest  all  things  as  if  they  would  be  eternal.  A little 
time,  and  thou  shalt  close  thy  eyes;  and  him  who  has  attended 
thee  to  thy  grave  another  soon  will  lament. 

35.  The  healthy  eye  ought  to  see  all  visible  things  and  not  to 
say,  I wish  for  green  things;  for  this  is  the  condition  of  a diseased 
eye.  And  the  healthy  hearing  and  smelling  ought  to  be  ready 
to  perceive  all  that  can  be  heard  and  smelled.  And  the  healthy 
stomach  ought  to  be  with  respect  to  all  food  just  as  the  mill  with 
respect  to  all  things  which  it  is  formed  to  grind.  And  accordingly 
the  healthy  understanding  ought  to  be  prepared  for  everything 
which  happens;  but  that  which  says.  Let  my  dear  children  live, 
and  let  all  men  praise  whatever  I may  do,  is  an  eye  which  seeks 
for  green  things,  or  teeth  which  seek  for  soft  things. 

36.  There  is  no  man  so  fortunate  that  there  shall  not  be  by  him 
when  he  is  dying  some  who  are  pleased  with  what  is  going  to 
happen.  Suppose  that  he  was  a good  and  wise  man,  will  there 

* Homer’s  Iliad,  vi.  146. 


i6o 


MARCUS  AURELIUS 


not  be  at  last  some  one  to  say  to  himself,  Let  us  at  last  breathe 
freely  being  relieved  from  this  schoolmaster?  It  is  true  that  he 
was  harsh  to  none  of  us,  but  I perceived  that  he  tacitly  condemns 
us.  — This  is  what  is  said  of  a good  man.  But  in  our  own  case 
how  many  other  things  are  there  for  which  there  are  many  who 
wish  to  get  rid  of  us ! Thou  wilt  consider  this  then  when  thou  art 
dying,  and  thou  wilt  depart  more  contentedly  by  reflecting  thus : 
I am  going  away  from  such  a life,  in  which  even  my  associates  in 
behalf  of  whom  I have  striven  so  much,  prayed,  and  cared,  them- 
selves wish  me  to  depart,  hoping  perchance  to  get  some  little  ad- 
vantage by  it.  Why  then  should  a man  cling  to  a longer  stay 
here?  Do  not  however  for  this  reason  go  away  less  kindly  dis- 
posed to  them,  but  preserving  thy  own  character,  and  friendly 
and  benevolent  and  mild,  and  on  the  other  hand  not  as  if  thou 
wast  torn  away;  but  as  when  a man  dies  a quiet  death,  the  poor 
soul  is  easily  separated  from  the  body,  such  also  ought  thy  de- 
parture from  men  to  be,  for  nature  united  thee  to  them  and  asso- 
ciated thee.  But  does  she  now  dissolve  the  union?  Well,  I am 
separated  as  from  kinsmen,  not  however  dragged  resisting,  but 
without  compulsion;  for  this  too  is  one  of  the  things  according 
to  nature. 

37.  Accustom  thyself  as  much  as  possible  on  the  occasion  of 
anything  being  done  by  any  person  to  inquire  with  thyself.  For 
what  object  is  this  man  doing  this?  but  begin  with  thyself,  and 
examine  thyself  first. 

38.  Remember  that  this  which  pulls  the  strings  is  the  thing 
which  is  hidden  within;  this  is  the  power  of  persuasion,  this  is 
life,  this,  if  one  may  so  say,  is  man.  In  contemplating  thyself 
never  include  the  vessel  which  surrounds  thee  and  these  instru- 
ments which  are  attached  about  it.  For  they  are  like  to  an  axe, 
differing  only  in  this  that  they  grow  to  the  body.  For  indeed 
there  is  no  more  use  in  these  parts  without  the  cause  which  moves 
and  checks  them  than  in  the  weaver’s  shuttle,  and  the  writer’s 
pen  and  the  driver’s  whip. 


PLOTINUS 

( 205-270 ) 

ENNEADES 

Translated  from  the  Greek  * hy 
THOMAS  TAYLOR 

/.  ON  THE  VIRTUES 
(I.  ii.) 

I.  Since  evils  are  here,  and  revolve  from  necessity  about  this 
[terrestrial]  place,  but  the  soul  wishes  to  fly  from  evils,  it  is  requi- 
site to  fly  from  hence.  What  therefore  is  the  flight?  To  become 
similar,  says  Plato,  to  God.  But  this  will  be  effected,  if  we  be- 
come just  and  holy,  in  conjunction  with  [intellectual]  prudence, 
and  in  short  if  we  are  [truly]  virtuous.  If  therefore  we  are  as- 
similated through  virtue,  is  it  to  one  who  possesses  virtue?  But 
to  whom  are  we  assimilated  ? To  divinity.  Are  we  then  assimi- 
lated to  that  nature  which  appears  to  possess  the  virtues  in  a more 
eminent  degree,  and  also  to  the  soul  of  the  world,  and  to  the  in- 
tellect which  is  the  leader  in  it,  in  which  there  is  an  admirable 
wisdom?  For  it  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that  while  we  are  here, 
we  are  assimilated  to  this  intellect.  Or  is  it  not  in  the  first  place 
dubious,  whether  all  the  virtues  are  present  with  this  intellect, 
such  as  temperance  and  fortitude,  since  there  is  nothing  which 
can  be  dreadful  to  it?  For  nothing  externally  happens  to  it,  nor 
does  any  thing  pleasing  approach  to  it,  which  when  not  present 
it  may  become  desirous  of  possessing,  or  apprehending.  But  if 
it  also  has  an  appetite  directed  to  the  intelligibles,  after  which  our 
souls  aspire,  it  is  evident  that  ornament  and  the  virtues  are  from 
thence  derived  to  us.  Has  therefore  this  intellect  these  virtues? 
Or  may  we  not  say,  it  is  not  reasonable  to  suppose,  that  it  pos- 
sesses what  are  called  the  political  virtues,  viz.  prudence  indeed, 
about  the  part  that  deliberates  and  consults ; fortitude  about  the 

* From  n\a)Tlyou ’Evi/edSes-  Reprinted  from  Se/eetzoor^s  o/'/’tetmus,  translated 
by  Thomas  Taylor,  London,  1817  ; zA  1895. 


PLOTINUS 


162 

irascible  part ; temperance,  in  the  agreement  and  concord  of  the 
part  that  desires,  with  the  reasoning  power;  and  justice,  in  each 
of  these  parts  performing  its  proper  office,  with  respect  to  gov- 
erning and  being  governed.  Shall  we  say  therefore,  that  we  are 
not  assimilated  to  divinity  according  to  the  political  virtues,  but 
according  to  greater  virtues  which  employ  the  same  appellation  ? 
But  if  according  to  others,  are  we  not  at  all  assimilated  according 
to  the  political  virtues  ? Or  is  it  not  absurd  that  we  should  not 
in  any  respect  be  assimilated  according  to  these?  For  rumour 
also  says,  that  these  are  divine.  We  must  say,  therefore,  that  we 
are  after  a manner  assimilated  by  them;  but  that  the  assimila- 
tion is  according  to  the  greater  virtues.  In  either  way,  however, 
it  happens  that  divinity  has  virtues,  though  not  such  as  the  po- 
litical. 

If,  therefore,  some  one  should  grant,  that  though  it  is  not  pos- 
sible to  be  assimilated  according  to  such  virtues  as  these,  since 
we  subsist  differently  with  reference  to  other  virtues,  yet  nothing 
hinders  but  that  we  by  our  virtues  may  be  assimilated  to  that 
which  does  not  possess  virtue.  But  after  what  manner?  Thus, 
if  any  thing  is  heated  by  the  presence  of  heat,  it  is  necessary  that 
also  should  be  hot  from  whence  the  heat  is  derived.  And  if  any 
thing  is  hot  by  the  presence  of  fire,  it  is  necessary  that  fire  itself 
also  should  be  hot  by  the  presence  of  heat.‘  To  the  first  of  these 
assertions,  however,  it  may  be  said,  that  there  is  heat  in  fire,  but 
a connascent  heat,  so  that  it  will  follow  from  analogy,  that  vir- 
tue is  indeed  adventitious  to  the  soul,  but  connascent  with  that 
nature  from  whence  it  is  derived  by  imitation.  And  with  respect 
to  the  argument  from  fire,  it  may  be  said  that  divinity  possesses 
virtue,  but  that  virtue  in  him  is  in  reality  greater  than  virtue 
[because  it  subsists  causally].  But  if  that  virtue  indeed,  of 
which  the  soul  participates,  was  the  same  with  that  from  which 
it  is  derived,  it  would  be  necessary  to  speak  in  this  manner.  Now, 
however,  the  one  is  different  from  the  other.  For  neither  is  the 
sensible  the  same  with  the  intelligible  house  [or  with  that  which 
is  the  object  of  intellectual  conception],  though  it  is  similar  to  it. 
And  the  sensible  house  participates  of  order  and  ornament; 

‘ For  irvphs  0ep/uoO  here,  I read  6ep/x6Tr)Tos. 


ENNEADES 


163 

though  there  is  neither  order,  nor  ornament,  nor  symmetry,  in 
the  productive  principle  of  it  in  the  mind.  Thus,  therefore,  we 
participate  from  thence  [i.  e.  from  divinity]  of  ornament,  order 
and  consent,  and  these  things  pertain  to  virtue,  but  there  con- 
sent, ornament  and  order  are  not  wanted,  and  therefore  divinity 
has  no  need  of  virtue.  We  are,  however,  nevertheless  assimilated 
to  what  he  possesses,  through  the  presence  of  virtue.  And  thus 
much  for  the  purpose  of  showing,  that  it  is  not  necessary  virtue 
should  be  there,  though  we  are  assimilated  to  divinity  by  virtue. 
But  it  is  also  necessary  to  introduce  persuasion  to  what  has  been 
said,  and  not  to  be  satisfied  with  compulsion  alone. 

II.  In  the  first  place,  therefore,  the  virtues  must  be  assumed, 
according  to  which  we  say  that  we  are  assimilated  [to  divinity], 
in  order  that  we  may  discover  the  same  thing.  For  that  which  is 
virtue  with  us,  being  an  imitation,  is  there  an  archetype  as  it  were, 
and  not  virtue.  By  which  we  signify  that  there  is  a twofold  simili- 
tude, one  of  which  requires  a sameness  in  the  things  that  are 
similar,  these  being  such  as  are  equally  assimilated  from  the  same 
thing;  but  the  other  being  that  in  which  one  thing  is  assimilated 
to  another,  but  the  latter  ranks  as  first,  and  is  not  converted  to 
the  other,  nor  is  said  to  be  similar  to  it.  Here,  therefore,  the 
similitude  must  be  assumed  after  another  manner;  since  we  do 
not  require  the  same,  but  rather  another  form,  the  assimilation 
being  effected  after  a different  manner.  What,  therefore,  is  vir- 
tue, both  that  which  is  universal,  and  that  which  is  particular  ? 
The  discussion,  however,  will  be  more  manifest  by  directing  our 
attention  to  each  of  the  virtues ; for  thus  that  which  is  common, 
according  to  which  all  of  them  are  virtues,  will  be  easily  apparent. 
The  political  virtues,  therefore,  of  which  we  have  spoken  above, 
truly  adorn  and  render  us  better,  bounding  and  moderating  the 
desires,  and  in  short  the  passions,  and  taking  away  false  opin- 
ions from  a more  excellent  nature,  by  limiting  and  placing  the 
soul  beyond  the  immoderate  and  indefinite,  and  by  themselves 
receiving  measure  and  bound.  Perhaps,  too,  these  measures  are 
in  soul  as  in  matter,  are  assimilated  to  the  measure  which  is  in 
divinity,  and  possess  a vestige  of  the  best  which  is  there.  For  that 
which  is  in  every  respect  deprived  of  measure,  being  matter,  is 


PLOTINUS 


164 

entirely  dissimilar  [to  divinity].  But  so  far  as  it  receives  form,  so 
far  it  is  assimilated  to  him  who  is  without  form.  But  things  which 
are  nearer  to  divinity,  participate  of  him  in  a greater  degree. 
Soul,  however,  is  nearer  to,  and  more  allied  to  him  than  body, 
and  therefore  participates  of  him  more  abundantly,  so  that  ap- 
pearing as  a God,  it  deceives  us,  and  causes  us  to  doubt  whether 
the  whole  of  it  is  not  divine.  After  this  manner,  therefore,  these 
are  assimilated. 

III.  Since,  however,  Plato  indicates  that  this  similitude  to 
God  pertains  to  a greater  virtue  [than  that  which  is  political], 
let  us  speak  concerning  it;  in  which  discussion  also,  the  essence 
of  political  virtue  will  become  more  manifest,  and  likewise  the 
virtue  which  is  essentially  more  excellent,  which  will  in  short  be 
found  to  be  different  from  that  which  is  political.  Plato,  there- 
fore, when  he  says  that  a similitude  to  God  is  a flight  from  ter- 
restrial concerns,  and  when  besides  this  he  does  not  admit  that 
the  virtues  belonging  to  a polity  are  simply  virtues,  but  adds  to 
them  the  epithet  political,  and  elsewhere  calls  all  the  virtues 
purifications,  evidently  admits  that  the  virtues  are  twofold,  and 
that  a similitude  to  divinity  is  not  effected  according  to  political 
virtue.  How,  therefore,  do  we  call  these  purifications  ? And  how 
being  purified,  are  we  especially  assimilated  to  divinity?  Shall 
we  say,  that  since  the  soul  is  in  an  evil  condition  when  mingled 
with  the  body,  becoming  similarly  passive  and  concurring  in 
opinion  with  it  in  all  things,  it  will  be  good  and  possess  virtue,  if 
it  neither  consents  with  the  body,  but  energizes  alone  (and  this 
is  to  perceive  intellectually  and  to  be  wise),  nor  is  similarly  pas- 
sive with  it  (and  this  is  to  be  temperate),  nor  dreads  a separa- 
tion from  the  body  (and  this  is  to  possess  fortitude),  but  reason 
and  intellect  are  the  leaders  (and  this  will  be  justice).  If  any 
one,  however,  calls  this  disposition  of  the  soul,  according  to  which 
it  perceives  intellectually,  and  is  thus  impassive,  a resemblance 
of  God,  he  will  not  err.  For  divinity  is  pure,  and  the  energy  is  of 
such  a kind,  that  the  being  which  imitates  it  will  possess  wisdom. 
What  then?  Is  not  divinity  also  disposed  after  this  manner ? Or 
may  we  not  say  that  he  is  not,  but  that  the  disposition  pertains 
to  the  soul ; and  that  soul  perceives  intellectually,  in  a way  dif- 


ENNEADES 


165 

ferent  from  divinity?  It  may  also  be  said,  that  of  the  things 
which  subsist  with  him,  some  subsist  differently  from  what  they 
do  with  us,  and  others  are  not  at  all  with  him.  Again,  therefore, 
is  intellectual  perception  with  him  and  us  homonymous  ? By  no 
means;  but  the  one  is  primary,  and  that  which  is  derived  from 
him  secondary.  For  as  the  discourse  which  is  in  voice  is  an  imi- 
tation of  that  which  is  in  the  soul,  so  likewise,  that  which  is  in 
the  soul,  is  an  imitation  of  that  which  is  in  something  else  [i.  e. 
in  intellect].  As,  therefore,  external  discourse  is  divided  and  dis- 
tributed, when  compared  to  that  which  is  in  the  soul,  thus  also 
that  which  is  in  the  soul,  and  which  is  the  interpreter  of  intellect- 
ual discourse,  is  divided  when  compared  with  it.  Virtue,  how- 
ever, pertains  to  the  soul;  but  not  to  intellect,  nor  to  that  which 
is  beyond  intellect. 

VI.  . . . Each  of  the  virtues,  however,  is  twofold;  for  each  is 
both  in  the  intellect  and  in  the  soul.  And  in  intellect,  indeed, 
each  is  not  [properly]  virtue,  but  virtue  is  in  soul.  What,  then, 
is  it  in  intellect  ? The  energy  of  intellect,  and  that  which  is.  But 
here  that  which  is  in  another,  is  virtue  derived  from  thence.  For 
justice  itself,  and  each  of  the  virtues,  are  not  in  intellect  such  as 
they  are  here,  but  they  are  as  it  were  paradigms.  But  that  which 
proceeds  from  each  of  these  into  the  soul,  is  virtue.  For  virtue 
pertains  to  a certain  thing.  But  each  thing  itself  pertains  to  itself, 
and  not  to  any  thing  else.  With  respect  to  justice,  however,  if  it 
is  the  performance  of  appropriate  duty,  does  it  always  consist  in 
a multitude  of  parts  ? Or  does  not  one  kind  consist  in  multitude, 
when  there  are  many  parts  of  it,  but  the  other  is  entirely  the  per- 
formance of  appropriate  duty,  though  it  should  be  one  thing. 
True  justice  itself,  therefore,  is  the  energy  of  one  thing  towards 
itself,  in  which  there  is  not  another  and  another.  Hence  justice 
in  the  soul  is  to  energize  in  a greater  degree  intellectually.  But 
temperance  is  an  inward  conversion  to  intellect.  And  fortitude 
is  apathy,  according  to  a similitude  of  that  to  which  the  soul  looks, 
and  which  is  naturally  impassive.  But  soul  is  impassive  from 
virtue,  in  order  that  she  may  not  sympathize  with  her  subordi- 
nate associate. 

VII.  These  virtues,  therefore,  follow  each  other  in  the  soul, 


PLOTINUS 


1 66 

in  the  same  manner  as  those  paradigms  in  intellect  which  are 
prior  to  virtue.  For  there  intelligence  is  wisdom  and  science; 
a conversion  to  itself  is  temperance;  its  proper  work  is  the  per- 
formance of  its  appropriate  duty,  and  justice;  and  that  which 
is  as  it  were  fortitude  is  immateriality,  and  an  abiding  with 
purity  in  itself.  In  soul,  therefore,  perception  directed  to  intellect 
is  wisdom  and  prudence,  which  are  the  virtues  of  the  soul.  For 
soul  does  not  possess  these  in  the  same  manner  as  intellect.  Other 
things  also  follow  after,  similarly  in  soul.  They  are  likewise 
consequent  to  purification,  since  all  the  virtues  are  purifications, 
and  necessarily  consist  in  the  soul  being  purified;  for  otherwise, 
no  one  of  them  would  be  perfect.  And  he  indeed,  who  possesses 
the  greater  virtues,  has  necessarily  the  less  in  capacity;  but  he 
who  possesses  the  less,  has  not  necessarily  the  greater.  This, 
therefore,  is  the  life  which  is  the  principal  and  leading  aim  of  a 
worthy  man.  But  whether  he  possesses  in  energy,  or  in  some 
other  way,  the  less  or  the  greater  virtues,  must  be  considered  by 
a survey  of  each  of  them;  as  for  instance,  of  prudence.  For  if  it 
uses  the  other  virtues,  how  can  it  any  longer  remain  what  it  is  ? 
And  if  also  it  should  not  energize?  Likewise,  it  must  be  con- 
sidered whether  naturally  the  virtues  proceed  to  a different  ex- 
tent; and  this  temperance  measures,  but  that  entirely  takes  away 
what  is  superfluous.  And  in  a similar  manner  in  the  other  vir- 
tues, prudence  being  wholly  excited.  Or  perhaps  the  worthy 
man  will  see  to  what  extent  they  proceed.  And  perhaps  some- 
times according  to  circumstances  he  will  energize  according  to 
some  of  them.  But  arriving  at  the  greater  virtues,  he  will 
perform  other  measures  according  to  them.  Thus,  for  instance, 
in  the  exercise  of  temperance,  he  will  not  measure  it  by  political 
temperance,  but  in  short  he  will  separate  himself  as  much  as 
possible  [from  the  body],  and  will  live,  not  merely  the  life  of  a 
good  man,  which  political  virtue  thinks  fit  to  enjoin,  but  leaving 
this,  he  will  choose  another  life,  namely,  that  of  the  Gods.  For 
the  similitude  is  to  these,  and  not  to  good  men.  The  similitude, 
indeed,  to  good  men,  is  an  assimilation  of  one  image  to  another, 
each  being  derived  from  the  same  thing;  but  a similitude  to 
God,  is  an  assimilation  as  to  a paradigm. 


ENNEADES 


167 


XV.  ON  THE  GOOD,  OR  THE  ONE 
(VI.  ix.) 

III.  What  then  will  the  one  be;  and  what  nature  will  it  pos- 
sess ? Or  may  we  not  say  that  it  is  not  at  all  wonderful,  it  should 
not  be  easy  to  tell  what  it  is,  since  neither  is  it  easy  to  tell  what 
being  is,  or  what  form  is.  But  our  knowledge  is  fixed  in  forms. 
When,  however,  the  soul  directs  its  attention  to  that  which  is 
formless,  then  being  unable  to  comprehend  that  which  is  not 
bounded,  and  as  it  were  impressed  with  forms  by  a former  of  a 
various  nature,  it  falls  from  the  apprehension  of  it,  and  is  afraid 
it  will  possess  [nothing  from  the  view].  Hence,  it  becomes  weary 
in  endeavours  of  this  kind,  and  gladly  descends  from  the  survey 
frequently  falling  from  all  things,  till  it  arrives  at  something 
sensible,  and  as  it  were  rests  in  a solid  substance;  just  as  the  sight 
also,  when  wearied  with  the  perception  of  small  objects,  eagerly 
converts  itself  to  such  as  are  large.  When,  however,  the  soul 
wishes  to  perceive  by  itself,  and  sees  itself  alone,  then  in  conse- 
quence of  being  one  with  the  object  of  its  perception,  it  does  not 
think  that  it  yet  possesses  that  which  it  investigates,  because  it 
is  not  different  from  that  which  it  intellectually  perceives.  At 
the  same  time,  it  is  requisite  that  he  should  act  in  this  manner, 
who  intends  to  philosophize  about  the  one.  Since,  therefore,  that 
which  we  investigate  is  one,  and  we  direct  our  attention  to  the 
principle  of  all  things,  to  the  good,  and  the  first,  we  ought  not  to 
be  far  removed  from  the  natures  which  are  about  the  first  of 
things,  nor  fall  from  them  to  the  last  of  all  things,  but  proceeding 
to  such  as  are  first,  we  should  elevate  ourselves  from  sensibles 
which  have  an  ultimate  subsistence.  The  soul,  likewise,  should 
for  this  purpose  be  liberated  from  all  vice,  in  consequence  of 
hastening  to  the  [vision  of  the]  good;  and  should  ascend  to  the 
principle  which  is  in  herself,  and  become  one  instead  of  many 
things,  in  order  that  she  may  survey  the  principle  of  all  things, 
and  the  one. 

It  is  requisite,  therefore,  that  the  soul  of  him  who  ascends 
to  the  good  should  then  become  intellect,  and  that  he  should  com- 


i68 


PLOTINUS 


mit  his  soul  to,  and  establish  it  in  intellect,  in  order,  that  what 
intellect  sees,  his  soul  may  vigilantly  receive,  and  may  through 
intellect  survey  the  one;  not  employing  any  one  of  the  senses, 
nor  receiving  any  thing  from  them,  but  with  a pure  intellect,  and 
with  the  summit  [and  as  it  were,  flower]  of  intellect,  beholding 
that  which  is  most  pure.  When,  therefore,  he  who  applies  him- 
self to  the  survey  of  a thing  of  this  kind,  imagines  that  there  is 
either  magnitude,  or  figure,  or  bulk  about  this  nature,  he  has  not 
intellect  for  the  leader  of  the  vision ; because  intellect  is  not  nat- 
urally adapted  to  perceive  things  of  this  kind,  but  such  an  energy 
is  the  energy  of  sense,  and  of  opinion  following  sense.  But  in 
order  to  perceive  the  one,  it  is  necessary  to  receive  from  intellect 
a declaration  of  what  intellect  is  able  to  accomplish.  Intellect, 
however,  is  able  to  see  either  things  prior  to  itself,  or  things  per- 
taining to  itself,  or  things  effected  by  itself.  And  the  things  in- 
deed contained  in  itself,  are  pure;  but  those  prior  to  itself  are  still 
purer  and  more  simple;  or  rather  this  must  be  asserted  of  that 
which  is  prior  to  it.  Hence,  that  which  is  prior  to  it,  is  not  intel- 
lect, but  something  more  excellent.  For  intellect  is  a certain  one 
among  the  number  of  beings;  but  that  is  not  a certain  one,  but  is 
prior  to  every  thing.  Nor  is  it  being;  for  being  has,  as  it  were, 
the  form  of  the  one.  But  that  is  formless,  and  is  even  without  in- 
telligible form.  For  the  nature  of  the  one  being  generative  of  all 
things,  is  not  any  one  of  them.  Neither,  therefore,  is  it  a certain 
thing,  nor  a quality,  nor  a quantity,  nor  intellect,  nor  soul,  nor 
that  which  is  moved,  nor  again  that  which  stands  still.  Nor  is  it 
in  place,  or  in  time;  but  is  by  itself  uniform,  or  rather  without 
form,  being  prior  to  all  form,  to  motion  and  to  permanency.  . . . 

IV.  In  this  affair,  however,  a doubt  especially  arises,  because 
the  perception  of  the  highest  God  is  not  effected  by  science,  nor 
by  intelligence,  like  other  intelligibles,  but  by  the  presence  of  him, 
which  is  a mode  of  knowledge  superior  to  that  of  science.  But 
the  soul  suffers  an  apostasy  from  the  one,  and  is  not  entirely  one 
when  it  receives  scientific  knowledge.  For  science  is  reason,  and 
reason  is  multitudinous.  The  soul,  therefore,  in  this  case,  devi- 
ates from  the  one,  and  falls  into  number  and  multitude.  Hence 
it  is  necessary  to  run  above  science,  and  in  no  respect  to  depart 


ENNEADES 


169 

from  a subsistence  which  is  profoundly  one;  but  it  is  requisite  to 
abandon  science,  the  objects  of  science,  every  other  thing,  and 
every  beautiful  spectacle.  For  every  thing  beautiful  is  posterior 
to  the  supreme,  and  is  derived  from  him,  in  the  same  manner  as 
all  diurnal  light  is  derived  from  the  sun.  Hence  Plato  says,  he 
is  neither  effable,  nor  to  be  described  by  writing.  We  speak  how- 
ever, and  write  about  him,  extending  ourselves  to  him,  and  ex- 
citing others  by  a reasoning  process  to  the  vision  of  him ; pointing 
out,  as  it  were,  the  way  to  him  who  wishes  to  behold  something 
[of  his  ineffable  nature].  For  doctrine  extends  as  far  as  to  the 
way  and  the  progression  to  him.  But  the  vision  of  him  is  now 
the  work  of  one  who  is  solicitous  to  perceive  him.  He,  however, 
will  not  arrive  at  the  vision  of  him,  and  will  not  be  affected  by 
the  survey,  nor  will  have  in  himself  as  it  were  an  amatory  passion 
from  the  view  (which  passion  causes  the  lover  to  rest  in  the  ob- 
ject of  his  love),  nor  receive  from  it  a true  light,  which  surrounds 
the  whole  soul  with  its  splendour,  in  consequence  of  becoming 
nearer  to  it;  he,  I say,  will  not  behold  this  light,  who  attempts  to 
ascend  to  the  vision  of  the  supreme  while  he  is  drawn  downwards 
by  those  things  which  are  an  impediment  to  the  vision.  He  will 
likewise  not  ascend  by  himself  alone,  but  will  be  accompanied 
by  that  which  will  divulse  him  from  the  one,  or  rather  he  will  not 
be  himself  collected  into  one.  For  the  one  is  not  absent  from  any 
thing,  and  yet  is  separated  from  all  things;  so  that  it  is  present, 
and  yet  not  present  with  them.  But  it  is  present  with  those 
things  that  are  able,  and  are  prepared  to  receive  it,  so  that  they 
become  congruous,  and  as  it  were  pass  into  contact  with  it, 
through  similitude  and  a certain  inherent  power  allied  to  that 
which  is  imparted  by  the  one.  When,  therefore,  the  soul  is  dis- 
posed in  such  a way  as  she  was  when  she  came  from  the  one,  then 
she  is  able  to  perceive  it,  as  far  as  it  is  naturally  capable  of  being 
seen.  He,  therefore,  who  has  not  yet  arrived  thither,  but  either  on 
account  of  the  above-mentioned  obstacle  is  deprived  of  this  vision, 
or  through  the  want  of  reason  which  may  conduct  him  to  it,  and 
impart  faith  respecting  it;  such  a one  may  consider  himself  as 
the  cause  of  his  disappointment  through  these  impediments,  and 
should  endeavour  by  separating  himself  from  all  things  to  be  alone. 


170 


PLOTINUS 


VI.  How,  therefore,  can  we  speak  of  the  one,  and  how  can  we 
adapt  it  to  intellectual  conception?  Shall  we  say  that  this  may 
be  accomplished,  by  admitting  that  it  is  more  transcendently  one 
than  the  monad  and  a point  ? For  in  these,  indeed,  the  soul,  tak- 
ing away  magnitude  and  the  multitude  of  number,  ends  in  that 
which  is  smallest,  and  fixes  itself  in  a certain  thing  which  is  in- 
deed indivisible,  but  which  was  in  a divisible  nature,  and  is  in 
something  different  from  itself.  But  the  one  is  neither  in  another 
thing,  nor  in  that  which  is  divisible.  Nor  is  it  indivisible  in  the 
same  way  as  that  which  is  smallest.  For  it  is  the  greatest  of  all 
things,  not  in  magnitude,  but  in  power.  So  that  it  is  without 
magnitude  in  power.  For  the  natures  also  which  are  [immedi- 
ately] posterior  to  it,  are  indivisible  in  powers,  and  not  in  bulk. 
The  principle  of  all  things  likewise  must  be  admitted  to  be  in- 
finite, not  because  he  is  magnitude  or  number  which  cannot  be 
passed  over,  but  because  the  power  of  him  is  incomprehensible. 
For  when  you  conceive  him  to  be  intellect  or  God,  he  is  more  [ex- 
cellent] than  these.  And  again,  when  by  the  dianoetic  power  you 
equalize  him  with  the  one,  or  conceive  him  to  be  God,  by  recur- 
ring to  that  which  is  most  united  in  your  intellectual  perception, 
he  even  transcends  these  appellations.  For  he  is  in  himself,  nor 
is  any  thing  accidental  to  him.  By  that  which  is  sufficient  to  itself 
also  the  unity  of  his  nature  may  be  demonstrated.  For  it  is  neces- 
sary that  the  principle  of  all  things  should  be  most  sufficient  both 
to  other  things,  and  to  itself,  and  that  it  should  also  be  most  un- 
indigent.  But  every  thing  which  is  multitudinous  and  not  one, 
is  indigent;  since  consisting  of  many  things  it  is  not  one.  Hence 
the  essence  of  it  requires  to  be  one.  But  the  one  is  not  in  want 
of  itself.  For  it  is  the  one.  Moreover,  that  which  is  many,  is  in 
want  of  as  many  things  as  it  is.  And  each  of  the  things  that  are 
in  it,  as  it  subsists  in  conjunction  with  others,  and  is  not  in  itself, 
is  indigent  of  other  things;  and  thus  a thing  of  this  kind  exhibits 
indigence,  both  according  to  parts  and  according  to  the  whole. 

If,  therefore,  it  is  necessary  there  should  be  something  which 
is  most  sufficient  to  itself,  it  is  necessary  there  should  be  the  one, 
which  alone  is  a thing  of  such  a kind,  as  neither  to  be  indigent 
with  reference  to  itself,  nor  with  reference  to  another  thing.  For 


ENNEADES 


171 

it  does  not  seek  after  any  thing  in  order  that  it  may  be,  nor  in 
order  that  it  may  be  in  an  excellent  condition,  nor  that  it  may 
be  there  established.  For  being  the  cause  of  existence  to  other 
things,  and  not  deriving  that  which  it  is  from  others,  nor  its  hap- 
piness, what  addition  can  be  made  to  it  external  to  itself?  Hence 
its  happiness,  or  the  excellency  of  its  condition,  is  not  accidental 
to  it.  For  it  is  itself  [all  that  is  sufficient  to  itself].  There  is  not 
likewise  any  place  for  it.  For  it  is  not  in  want  of  a foundation,  as 
if  it  were  not  able  to  sustain  itself.  For  that  which  is  established 
in  another  thing  is  inanimate,  and  a falling  mass,  if  it  is  without 
a foundation.  But  other  things  are  established  on  account  of  the 
one,  through  which  also  they  at  the  same  time  subsist,  and  have 
the  place  in  which  they  are  arranged.  That,  however,  which 
seeks  after  place  is  indigent.  But  the  principle  is  not  indigent  of 
things  posterior  to  itself.  The  principle,  therefore,  of  all  things 
is  unindigent  of  all  things.  For  that  which  is  indigent,  is  indigent 
in  consequence  of  aspiring  after  its  principle.  But  if  the  one  was 
indigent  of  any  thing  it  would  certainly  seek  not  to  be  the  one; 
so  that  it  would  be  indigent  of  its  destroyer.  Every  thing,  how- 
ever, which  is  said  to  be  indigent,  is  indigent  of  a good  condition 
and  of  that  which  preserves  it.  Hence  to  the  one  nothing  is  good, 
and,  therefore,  neither  is  the  wish  for  any  thing  good  to  it.  But 
it  is  super-good.  And  it  is  not  good  to  itself,  but  to  other  things, 
which  are  able  to  participate  of  it.  Nor  does  the  one  possess  in- 
telligence, lest  it  should  also  possess  difference;  nor  motion. 
For  it  is  prior  to  motion  and  prior  to  intelligence.  For  what  is 
there  which  it  will  intellectually  perceive?  Shall  we  say  itself? 
Prior  to  intellection,  therefore,  it  will  be  ignorant,  and  will  be  in 
want  of  intelligence  in  order  that  it  may  know  itself,  though  it 
is  sufficient  to  itself.  It  does  not  follow,  however,  that  because 
the  one  does  not  know  itself,  and  does  not  intellectually  perceive 
itself,  there  will  be  ignorance  in  it.  For  ignorance  takes  place 
where  there  is  diversity,  and  when  one  thing  is  ignorant  of  an- 
other. That,  however,  which  is  alone  neither  knows  any  thing, 
nor  has  any  thing  of  which  it  is  ignorant.  But  being  one,  and 
associating  with  itself,  it  does  not  require  the  intellectual  per- 
ception of  itself;  since  neither  is  it  necessary,  in  order  that  you 


172 


PLOTINUS 


may  preserve  the  one,  to  adapt  to  it  an  association  with  itself. 
But  it  is  requisite  to  take  away  intellectual  perception,  an  asso- 
ciation with  itself,  and  the  knowledge  of  itself,  and  of  other  things. 
For  it  is  not  proper  to  arrange  it  according  to  the  act  of  perceiving 
intellectually,  but  rather  according  to  intelligence.  For  intelli- 
gence does  not  perceive  intellectually,  but  is  the  cause  of  intel- 
lectual perception  to  another  thing.  Cause,  however,  is  not  the 
same  with  the  thing  caused.  But  the  cause  of  all  things  is  not  any 
one  of  them.  Hence  neither  must  it  be  denominated  that  good 
which  it  imparts  to  others;  but  it  is  after  another  manner  the 
good,  in  a way  transcending  other  goods, 

IX.  , , , The  soul,  therefore,  when  in  a condition  conform- 
able to  nature,  loves  God,  wishing  to  be  united  to  him,  being  as 
it  were  the  desire  of  a beautiful  virgin  to  be  conjoined  with  a 
beautiful  Love,  When,  however,  the  soul  descends  into  genera- 
tion, then  being  as  it  were  deceived  by  [spurious]  nuptials,  and 
associating  herself  with  another  and  a mortal  Love,  she  becomes 
petulant  and  insolent  through  being  absent  from  her  father.  But 
when  she  again  hates  terrene  wantonness  and  injustice,  and  be- 
comes purified  from  the  defilements  which  are  here,  and  again 
returns  to  her  father,  then  she  is  affected  in  the  most  felicitous 
manner.  And  those  indeed  who  are  ignorant  of  this  affection, 
may  from  terrene  love  form  some  conjecture  of  divine  love,  by 
considering  how  great  a felicity  the  possession  of  a most  beloved 
object  is  conceived  to  be;  and  also  by  considering  that  these 
earthly  objects  of  love  are  mortal  and  noxious,  that  the  love  of 
them  is  nothing  more  than  the  love  of  images,  and  that  they  lose 
their  attractive  power  because  they  are  not  truly  desirable,  nor 
our  real  good,  nor  that  which  we  investigate.  In  the  intelligible 
world,  however,  the  true  object  of  love  is  to  be  found,  with  which 
we  may  be  conjoined,  which  we  may  participate,  and  truly  pos- 
sess, and  which  is  not  externally  enveloped  with  flesh.  He  how- 
ever who  knows  this,  will  know  what  I say,  and  will  be  convinced 
that  the  soul  has  then  another  life.  The  soul  also  proceeding  to, 
and  having  now  arrived  at  the  desired  end,  and  participating  of 
deity,  will  know  that  the  supplier  of  true  life  is  then  present.  She 
will  likewise  then  require  nothing  farther:  for  on  the  contrary, 


ENNEADES 


173 


it  will  be  requisite  to  lay  aside  other  things,  to  stop  in  this  alone, 
and  to  become  this  alone,  amputating  every  thing  else  with  which 
she  is  surrounded.  Hence,  it  is  necessary  to  hasten  our  departure 
from  hence,  and  to  be  indignant  that  we  are  bound  in  one  part 
of  our  nature,  in  order  that  with  the  whole  of  our  [true]  selves, 
we  may  fold  ourselves  about  divinity,  and  have  no  part  void  of 
contact  with  him.  When  this  takes  place  therefore,  the  soul  will 
both  see  divinity  and  herself,  as  far  as  it  is  lawful  for  her  to  see 
him.  And  she  will  see  herself  indeed  illuminated,  and  full  of  in- 
telligible light;  or  rather,  she  will  perceive  herself  to  be  a pure 
light,  unburthened,  agile,  and  becoming  to  be  a God,  or  rather 
being  a God,  and  then  shining  forth  as  such  to  the  view.  But  if 
she  again  becomes  heavy,  she  then  as  it  were  wastes  away. 

X.  How  does  it  happen,  therefore,  that  the  soul  does  not  abide 
there?  Is  it  not  because  she  has  not  yet  w’holly  migrated  from 
hence?  But  she  will  then,  when  her  vision  of  deity  possesses  an 
uninterrupted  continuity,  and  she  is  no  longer  impeded  or  dis- 
turbed in  her  intuition  by  the  body.  That  however  which  sees 
divinity,  is  not  the  thing  which  is  disturbed,  but  something 
else;  when  that  which  perceives  him  is  at  rest  from  the  vision. 
But  it  is  not  then  at  rest  according  to  a scientific  energy,  which 
consists  in  demonstrations,  in  credibilities,  and  a discursive  pro- 
cess of  the  soul.  For  here  vision,  and  that  which  sees,  are  no 
longer  reason,  but  greater  than  and  prior  to  reason.  And  in  rea- 
son, indeed,  they  are  as  that  is  which  is  perceived.  He  therefore 
who  sees  himself,  will  then,  when  he  sees,  behold  himself  to  be 
such  a thing  as  this,  or  rather  he  will  be  present  with  himself  thus 
disposed,  and  becoming  simple,  will  perceive  himself  to  be  a thing 
of  this  kind.  Perhaps,  however,  neither  must  it  be  said  that  he 
sees,  but  that  he  is  the  thing  seen;  if  it  is  necessary  to  call  these 
two  things,  i.  e.  the  perceiver  and  the  thing  perceived.  But  both 
are  one ; though  it  is  bold  to  assert  this.  Then,  indeed,  the  soul 
neither  sees,  nor  distinguishes  by  seeing,  nor  imagines  that  there 
are  two  things;  but  becomes  as  it  were  another  thing,  and  not 
itself.  Nor  does  that  which  pertains  to  itself  contribute  any  thing 
there.  But  becoming  wholly  absorbed  in  deity,  she  is  one,  con- 
joining as  it  were  centre  with  centre.  For  here  concurring,  they 


174 


PLOTINUS 


are  one ; but  they  are  then  two  when  they  are  separate.  For  thus 
also  we  now  denominate  that  which  is  another.  Hence  this  spec- 
tacle is  a thing  difficult  to  explain  by  words.  For  how  can  any 
one  narrate  that  as  something  different  from  himself,  which  when 
he  sees  he  does  not  behold  as  different,  but  as  one  with  himself? 

XI.  This,  therefore,  is  manifested  by  the  mandate  of  the  mys- 
teries, which  orders  that  they  shall  not  be  divulged  to  those  who 
are  uninitiated.  For  as  that  which  is  divine  cannot  be  unfolded 
to  the  multitude,  this  mandate  forbids  the  attempt  to  elucidate 
it  to  any  one  but  him  who  is  fortunately  able  to  perceive  it.  Since, 
therefore,  [in  this  conjunction  with  deity]  there  were  not  two 
things,  but  the  perceiver  was  one  with  the  thing  perceived,  as  not 
being  [properly  speaking]  vision  but  union;  whoever  becomes 
one  by  mingling  with  deity,  and  afterwards  recollects  this  union, 
will  have  with  himself  an  image  of  it.  But  he  was  also  himself 
one,  having  with  respect  to  himself  no  difference,  nor  with  re- 
spect to  other  things.  For  then  there  was  not  any  thing  excited 
with  him  who  had  ascended  thither;  neither  anger,  nor  the  desire 
of  any  thing  else,  nor  reason,  nor  a certain  intellectual  perception, 
nor,  in  short,  was  even  he  himself  moved,  if  it  be  requisite  also  to 
assert  this;  but  being  as  it  were  in  an  ecstasy,  or  energizing  en- 
thusiastically, he  became  established  in  quiet  and  solitary  union, 
not  at  all  deviating  from  his  own  essence,  nor  revolving  about 
himself,  but  being  entirely  stable,  and  becoming  as  it  were  sta- 
bility itself.  Neither  was  he  then  excited  by  any  thing  beautiful; 
but  running  above  the  beautiful,  he  passed  beyond  even  the  choir 
of  the  virtues.  Just  as  if  some  one  having  entered  into  the  inte- 
rior of  the  adytum  should  leave  behind  all  the  statues  in  the  tem- 
ple, which  on  his  departure  from  the  adytum  will  first  present 
themselves  to  his  view,  after  the  inward  spectacle,  and  the  asso- 
ciation that  was  there,  which  was  not  with  a statue  or  an  image, 
but  with  the  thing  itself  [which  the  images  represent],  and  which 
necessarily  become  the  second  objects  of  his  perception.  Perhaps, 
however,  this  was  not  a spectacle,  but  there  was  another  mode 
of  vision,  viz.  ecstasy,  and  an  expansion  and  accession  of  himself, 
a desire  of  contact,  rest,  and  a striving  after  conjunction,  in  order 
to  behold  what  the  adytum  contains.  But  nothing  will  be  present 


ENNEADES 


175 


with  him  who  beholds  in  any  other  way.  The  wise  prophets, 
therefore,  obscurely  signified  by  these  imitations  how  this  [high- 
est] God  is  seen.  But  the  wise  priest  understanding  the  enigma, 
and  having  entered  into  the  adytum,  obtains  a true  vision  of  what 
is  there.  If,  however,  he  has  not  entered,  he  will  conceive  this 
adytum  to  be  a certain  invisible  thing,  and  will  have  a knowledge 
of  the  fountain  and  principle,  as  the  principle  of  things.  But 
when  situated  there,  he  will  see  the  principle,  and  will  be  con- 
joined with  it,  by  a union  of  like  with  like,  neglecting  nothing 
divine  which  the  soul  is  able  to  possess.  Prior  to  the  vision  also 
it  requires  that  which  remains  from  the  vision.  But  that  which 
remains  to  him  who  passes  beyond  all  things,  is  that  which  is 
prior  to  all  things.  For  the  nature  of  the  soul  will  never  accede  to 
that  which  is  entirely  non-being.  But  proceeding  indeed  down- 
wards it  will  fall  into  evil ; and  thus  into  non-being,  yet  not  into 
that  which  is  perfect  nonentity.  Running,  however,  in  a contrary 
direction,  it  will  arrive  not  at  another  thing,  but  at  itself.  And 
thus  not  being  in  another  thing,  it  is  not  on  that  account  in  no- 
thing, but  is  in  itself.  To  be  in  itself  alone,  however,  and  not  in 
being,  is  to  be  in  God.  For  God  also  is  something  which  is  not 
essence,  but  beyond  essence.  Hence  the  soul  when  in  this  condi- 
tion associates  with  him.  He,  therefore,  who  perceives  himself  to 
associate  with  God,  will  have  himself  the  similtude  of  him.  And 
if  he  passes  from  himself  as  an  image  to  the  archetype,  he  will 
then  have  the  end  of  his  progression.  But  when  he  falls  from  the 
vision  of  God,  if  he  again  excites  the  virtue  which  is  in  himself, 
and  perceives  himself  to  be  perfectly  adorned;  he  will  again  be 
elevated  through  virtue,  proceeding  to  intellect  and  wisdom,  and 
afterwards  to  the  principle  of  all  things.  This,  therefore,  is  the 
life  of  the  Gods,  and  of  divine  and  happy  men,  a liberation  from 
all  terrene  concerns,  a life  unaccompanied  with  human  pleasures, 
and  a flight  of  the  alone  to  the  alone. 


SAINT  AUGUSTINE 

( 354-43° ) 

THE  CITY  OF  GOD 


Translated  from  the  Latin  * by 
MARCUS  DODS 

BOOK  XII.  CHAPTER  V.  EVERT  CREATED 
NATURE  GOOD 

All  natures,  then,  inasmuch  as  they  are,  and  have  therefore  a 
rank  and  species  of  their  own,  and  a kind  of  internal  harmony, 
are  certainly  good.  And  when  they  are  in  the  places  assigned  to 
them  by  the  order  of  their  nature,  they  preserve  such  being  as 
they  have  received.  And  those  things  which  have  not  received 
everlasting  being,  are  altered  for  better  or  for  worse,  so  as  to  suit 
the  wants  and  motions  of  those  things  to  which  the  Creator’s  law 
has  made  them  subservient;  and  thus  they  tend  in  the  divine 
providence  to  that  end  which  is  embraced  in  the  general  scheme 
of  the  government  of  the  universe.  So  that,  though  the  corrup- 
tion of  transitory  and  perishable  things  brings  them  to  utter  de- 
struction, it  does  not  prevent  their  producing  that  which  was  de- 
signed to  be  their  result.  And  this  being  so,  God,  who  supremely 
is,  and  who  therefore  created  every  being  which  has  not  supreme 
existence  (for  that  which  was  made  of  nothing  could  not  be  equal 
to  Him,  and  indeed  could  not  be  at  all  had  He  not  made  it),  is 
not  to  be  found  fault  with  on  account  of  the  creature’s  faults, 
but  is  to  be  praised  in  view  of  the  natures  He  has  made. 


CHAPTER  VI.  THE  ORIGIN  OF  EVIL 


If  the  further  question  be  asked,  what  was  the  efficient  cause  of 
the  evil  will  f ? — there  is  none.  For  what  is  it  which  makes  the  will 

* From  De  Civitate  Dei,  Subiaco,  1467.  Reprinted  from  Augustine’s  City  oj 
Cod,  translated  by  Rev.  Marcus  Dods,  Edinburgh,  1872. 

t The  discussion  here  relates  to  angels  but  is  similarly  applied  to  men. 


THE  CITY  OF  GOD 


177 


bad,  when  it  is  the  will  itself  which  makes  the  action  bad  ? And 
consequently  the  bad  will  is  the  cause  of  the  bad  action,  but  no- 
thing is  the  efficient  cause  of  the  bad  will.  For  if  anything  is  the 
cause,  this  thing  either  has  or  has  not  a will.  If  it  has,  the  will  is 
either  good  or  bad.  If  good,  who  is  so  left  to  himself  as  to  say 
that  a good  will  makes  a will  bad.  For  in  this  case  a good  will 
would  be  the  cause  of  sin ; a most  absurd  supposition.  On  the 
other  hand,  if  this  hypothetical  thing  has  a bad  will,  I wish  to 
know  what  made  it  so ; and  that  we  may  not  go  on  forever,  I ask  at 
once,  what  made  the  first  evil  will  bad  ? For  that  is  not  the  first 
which  was  itself  corrupted  by  an  evil  will,  but  that  is  the  first 
which  was  made  evil  by  no  other  will.  For  if  it  were  preceded 
by  that  which  made  it  evil,  that  will  was  first  which  made  the 
other  evil.  But  if  it  is  replied,  “ Nothing  made  it  evil ; it  always  was 
evil,”  I ask  if  it  has  been  existing  in  some  nature.  For  if  not, 
then  it  did  not  exist  at  all;  and  if  it  did  exist  in  some  nature,  then 
it  vitiated  and  corrupted  it,  and  injured  it,  and  consequently  de- 
prived it  of  good.  And  therefore  the  evil  will  could  not  exist  in 
an  evil  nature,  but  in  a nature  at  once  good  and  mutable,  which 
this  vice  could  injure.  For  if  it  did  no  injury,  it  was  no  vice;  and 
consequently  the  will  in  which  it  was,  could  not  be  called  evil. 
But  if  it  did  injury,  it  did  take  it  by  taking  away  or  diminishing 
good.  And  therefore  there  could  not  be  from  eternity,  as  was 
suggested,  an  evil  will  in  that  thing  in  which  there  had  been  pre- 
viously a natural  good,  which  the  evil  will  was  able  to  diminish 
by  corrupting  it. 

If,  then,  the  evil  will  was  not  from  eternity,  who,  I ask, 
made  it  ? The  only  thing  that  can  be  suggested  in  reply  is,  that 
something  which  itself  had  no  will,  made  the  will  evil.  I ask, 
then,  whether  this  thing  was  superior,  inferior,  or  equal  to  it? 
If  superior,  then  it  is  better.  How,  then,  has  it  no  will,  and  not 
rather  a good  will  ? The  same  reasoning  applies  if  it  was  equal ; 
for  so  long  as  two  things  have  equally  a good  will,  the  one  can- 
not produce  in  the  other  an  evil  will.  There  remains  the  suppo- 
sition that  that  whieh  corrupted  the  will  of  the  angelic  nature 
which  first  sinned,  was  itself  an  inferior  thing  without  a will. 
But  that  thing,  be  it  of  the  lowest  and  most  earthly  kind,  is  cer- 


lyS  SAINT  AUGUSTINE 

tainly  itself  good,  since  it  is  a nature  and  being,  with  a form  and 
rank  of  its  own  in  its  own  kind  and  order.  How,  then,  can  a good 
thing  be  the  efficient  cause  of  an  evil  will  ? How,  I say,  can  good 
be  the  cause  of  evil?  For  when  the  will  abandons  what  is  above 
itself,  and  turns  to  what  is  lower,  it  becomes  evil  — not  because 
that  is  evil  to  which  it  turns,  but  because  the  turning  itself  is 
wicked.  Therefore  it  is  not  an  inferior  thing  which  has  made 
the  will  evil,  but  it  is  itself  which  has  become  so  by  wickedly  and 
inordinately  desiring  an  inferior  thing.  . . . For  if  we  say  that 
the  man  himself  made  his  will  evil,  what  was  the  man  himself 
before  his  will  was  evil  but  a good  nature  created  by  God,  the 
unchangeable  good.  Here  are  two  men  who,  before  the  tempta- 
tion, were  alike  in  body  and  soul,  and  of  whom  one  yielded  to  the 
tempter  who  persuaded  him,  while  the  other  could  not  be  per- 
suaded to  desire  that  lovely  body  which  was  equally  before  the 
eyes  of  both.  Shall  we  say  of  the  successfully  tempted  man  that 
he  corrupted  his  own  will,  since  he  was  certainly  good  before  his 
will  became  bad?  Then,  why  did  he  do  so?  Was  it  because  his 
will  was  a nature,  or  because  it  was  made  of  nothing?  We  shall 
find  that  the  latter  is  the  case.  For  if  a nature  is  the  cause 
of  an  evil  will,  what  else  can  we  say  than  that  evil  arises  from 
good,  or  that  good  is  the  cause  of  evil  ? And  how  can  it  come  to 
pass  that  a nature,  good  though  mutable,  should  produce  any 
evil  — that  is  to  say,  should  make  the  will  itself  wicked  ? 


CHAPTER  VII.  EVIL  A NEGATION 

Let  no  one,  therefore,  look  for  an  efficient  cause  of  the  evil  will ; 
for  it  is  not  efficient,  but  deficient,  as  the  will  itself  is  not  an  ef- 
fecting of  something,  but  a defect.  For  defection  from  that  which 
supremely  is,  to  that  which  has  less  of  being  — this  is  to  begin  to 
have  an  evil  will.  Now,  to  seek  to  discover  the  causes  of  these 
defections,  — causes,  as  I have  said,  not  efficient,  but  deficient, 
— is  as  if  some  one  sought  to  see  darkness,  or  hear  silence.  Yet 
both  of  these  are  known  by  us,  and  the  former  by  means  only  of 
the  eye,  the  latter  only  by  the  ear;  but  not  by  their  positive  ac- 


THE  CITY  OF  GOD 


179 


tuality,  but  by  their  want  of  it.  Let  no  one,  then,  seek  to  know 
from  me  what  I know  that  I do  not  know;  unless  he  perhaps 
wishes  to  learn  to  be  ignorant  of  that  of  which  all  we  know  is, 
that  it  cannot  be  known.  For  those  things  which  are  known  not 
by  their  actuality,  but  by  their  want  of  it,  are  known,  if  our  ex- 
pression may  be  allowed  and  understood,  by  not  knowing  them, 
that  by  knowing  them  they  may  be  not  known.  For  when  the 
eyesight  surveys  objects  that  strike  the  sense,  it  nowhere  sees 
darkness  but  where  it  begins  not  to  see.  And  so  no  other  sense 
but  the  ear  can  perceive  silence,  and  yet  it  is  only  perceived  by 
not  hearing.  Thus,  too,  our  mind  perceives  intelligible  forms  by 
understanding  them ; but  when  they  are  deficient,  it  knows  them 
by  not  knowing  them;  for  “who  can  understand  defects?” 


BOOK  XIV.  CHAPTER  VI.  THE  CHARACTER  OF 
THE  HUMAN  WILL 

But  the  character  of  the  human  will  is  of  moment ; because  if  it 
is  wrong,  these  motions  of  the  soul  will  be  wrong,  but  if  it  is  right, 
they  will  be  not  merely  blameless,  but  even  praiseworthy.  For 
the  will  is  in  them  all ; yea,  none  of  them  is  anything  else  than  the 
will.  For  what  are  desire  and  joy  but  a volition  of  consent  to  the 
things  we  wish?  And  what  are  fear  and  sadness  but  a volition 
of  aversion  from  the  things  which  we  do  not  wfish  ? But  when 
consent  takes  the  form  of  seeking  to  possess  the  things  we  wish, 
this  is  called  desire;  and  when  consent  takes  the  form  of  enjoy- 
ing the  things  we  wish,  this  is  called  joy.  In  like  manner,  when 
we  turn  with  aversion  from  that  which  we  do  not  wish  to  happen, 
this  volition  is  termed  fear;  and  when  we  turn  away  from  that 
which  has  happened  against  our  will,  this  act  of  will  is  called 
sorrow.  And  generally  in  respect  of  all  that  we  seek  or  shun,  as  a 
man’s  will  is  attracted  or  repelled,  so  it  is  changed  and  turned 
into  these  different  affections.  Wherefore  the  man  who  lives 
according  to  God,  and  not  according  to  man,  ought  to  be  a lover 
of  good,  and  therefore  a hater  of  evil.  And  since  no  one  is  evil  by 
nature,  but  whoever  is  evil  is  evil  by  vice,  he  who  lives  according 


i8o 


SAINT  AUGUSTINE 


to  God  ought  to  cherish  towards  evil  men  a perfect  hatred,*  so 
that  he  shall  neither  hate  the  man  because  of  his  vice,  nor  love 
the  vice  because  of  the  man,  but  hate  the  vice  and  love  the  man. 
For  the  vice  being  cured,  all  that  ought  to  be  loved,  and  no- 
thing that  ought  to  be  hated  will  remain. 


BOOK  XIX.  CHAPTER  IF.  THE  CHRISTIAN  IDEA 
OF  THE  SUPREME  GOOD  AND  EVIL 

If  then,  we  be  asked  what  the  City  of  God  has  to  say  upon  these 
points,  and,  in  the  first  place,  what  its  opinion  regarding  the  su- 
preme good  and  evil  is,  we  will  reply  that  life  eternal  is  the  supreme 
good,  death  eternal  the  supreme  evil,  and  that  to  obtain  the  one 
and  escape  the  other  we  must  live  rightly.  And  thus  it  is  written, 
“The  just  live  by  faith,”  ^ for  we  do  not  as  yet  see  our  good,  and 
must  therefore  live  by  faith ; neither  have  we  in  ourselves  power 
to  live  rightly,  but  can  do  so  if  He  who  has  given  us  faith  to  be- 
lieve in  His  help  do  help  us  when  we  believe  and  pray.  As  for 
those  who  have  supposed  that  the  sovereign  good  and  evil  are  to 
be  found  in  this  life,  and  have  placed  it  either  in  the  soul  or  the 
body,  or  in  both,  or,  to  speak  more  explicitly,  either  in  pleasure 
or  in  virtue,  or  in  both ; in  repose  or  in  virtue,  or  in  both ; in 
pleasure  and  repose,  or  in  virtue,  or  in  all  combined;  in  the 
primary  objects  of  nature,  or  in  virtue,  or  in  both,  — all  these 
have,  with  a marvellous  shallowness,  sought  to  find  their  bless- 
edness in  this  life  and  in  themselves. 

For  what  flood  of  eloquence  can  suffice  to  detail  the  miseries 
of  this  life  ? Cicero,  in  the  Consolation  on  the  death  of  his  daugh- 
ter, has  spent  all  his  ability  in  lamentation;  but  how  inadequate 
was  even  his  ability  here?  For  when,  where,  how,  in  this  life  can 
these  primary  objects  of  nature  be  possessed  so  that  they  may 
not  be  assailed  by  unforeseen  accidents  ? Is  the  body  of  the  wise, 
man  exempt  from  any  pain  which  may  dispel  pleasure,  from  any 
disquietude  which  may  banish  repose?  The  amputation  or  de- 
cay of  the  members  of  the  body  puts  an  end  to  its  integrity,  de- 

* Psalm  cxxxix,  22.  ^ Hab.  ii.  4. 


THE  CITY  OF  GOD 


i8i 


formity  blights  its  beauty,  weakness  its  health,  lassitude  its  vig- 
our, sleepiness  or  sluggishness  it5  activity,  — and  which  of  these 
is  it  that  may  not  assail  the  flesh  of  the  wise  man  ? Comely  and 
fitting  attitudes  and  movements  of  the  body  are  numbered 
among  the  prime  natural  blessings;  but  what  if  some  sickness 
makes  the  members  tremble  ? what  if  a man  suffers  from  curva- 
ture of  the  spine  to  such  an  extent  that  his  hands  reach  the 
ground,  and  he  goes  upon  all-fours  like  a quadruped?  What 
shall  I say  of  the  fundamental  blessings  of  the  soul,  sense  and  in- 
tellect, of  which  the  one  is  given  for  the  perception,  and  the  other 
for  the  comprehension  of  truth  ? But  what  kind  of  sense  is  it  that 
remains  when  a man  becomes  deaf  and  blind  ? Where  are  reason 
and  intellect  when  disease  makes  a man  delirious  ? . . . 

In  fine,  virtue  itself,  which  is  not  among  the  primary  objects 
of  nature,  but  succeeds  to  them  as  the  result  of  learning,  though 
it  holds  the  highest  place  among  human  good  things,  what  is  its 
occupation  save  to  wage  perpetual  war  with  the  vices,  — not 
those  that  are  outside  of  us,  but  within ; not  other  men’s  but  our 
own,  — a war  which  is  waged  especially  by  that  virtue  which  the 
Greeks  call  cr(i><f>poavvr]  and  we  temperance,^  and  which  bridles 
carnal  lusts,  and  prevents  them  from  winning  the  consent  of  the 
spirit  to  wicked  deeds?  For  we  must  not  fancy  there  is  no  vice 
in  us,  when,  as  the  apostle  says,  “The  flesh  lusteth  against  the 
spirit  ” ; * for  to  this  vice  there  is  a contrary  virtue,  when,  as  the 
same  writer  says,  “The  spirit  lusteth  against  the  flesh.”  “For 
these  two,”  he  says,  “are  contrary  one  to  the  other,  so  that  you 
cannot  do  the  things  which  you  would.”  But  what  is  it  we  wish 
to  do  when  we  seek  to  attain  the  supreme  good,  unless  that  the 
flesh  should  cease  to  lust  against  the  spirit,  and  that  there  be  no 
vice  in  us  against  which  the  spirit  may  lust  ? And  as  we  cannot 
attain  to  this  in  the  present  life,  however  ardently  we  desire  it, 
let  us  by  God’s  help  accomplish  at  least  this,  to  preserve  the  soul 
from  succumbing  and  yielding  to  the  flesh  that  lusts  against  it, 
and  to  refuse  our  consent  to  the  perpetration  of  sin.  Far  be  it 
from  us,  then,  to  fancy  that  while  we  are  still  engaged  in  this 
intestine  war,  we  have  already  found  the  happiness  which  we 

* Cicero,  Ttisc.  Quaest.  iii.  8.  ^ Gal.  v.  17. 


SAINT  AUGUSTINE 


182 

seek  to  reach  by  victory.  And  who  is  there  so  wise  that  he  has  no 
conflict  at  all  to  maintain  agamst  vices? 

What  shall  I say  of  that  virtue  which  is  called  prudence?  Is 
not  all  its  vigilance  spent  in  the  discernment  of  good  from  evil 
things,  so  that  no  mistake  may  be  admitted  about  what  one  should 
desire  and  what  avoid?  And  thus  it  is  itself  a proof  that  we  are 
in  the  midst  of  evils,  or  that  evils  are  in  us;  for  it  teaches  us  that 
it  is  an  evil  to  consent  to  sin,  and  a good  to  refuse  this  consent. 
And  yet  this  evil,  to  which  prudence  teaches  and  temperance 
enables  us  not  to  consent,  is  removed  from  this  life  neither  by 
prudence  nor  by  temperance.  And  justice,  whose  office  it  is  to 
render  to  every  man  his  due,  whereby  there  is  in  man  himself  a 
certain  just  order  of  nature,  so  that  the  soul  is  subjected  to  God, 
and  the  flesh  to  the  soul,  and  consequently  both  soul  and  flesh 
to  God,  — does  not  this  virtue  demonstrate  that  it  is  as  yet  rather 
labouring  towards  its  end  than  resting  in  its  finished  work?  For 
the  soul  is  so  much  the  less  subjected  to  God  as  it  is  less  occupied 
with  the  thought  of  God;  and  the  flesh  is  so  much  the  less  sub- 
jected to  the  spirit  as  it  lusts  more  vehemently  against  the  spirit. 
So  long,  therefore,  as  we  are  beset  by  this  weakness,  this  plague, 
this  disease,  how  shall  we  dare  to  say  that  we  are  safe?  and  if  not 
safe,  then  how  can  we  be  already  enjoying  our  final  beatitude? 

Then  that  virtue  which  goes  by  the  name  of  fortitude  is  the 
plainest  proof  of  the  ills  of  life,  for  it  is  these  ills  which  it  is  com- 
pelled to  bear  patiently.  And  this  holds  good,  no  matter  though 
the  ripest  wisdom  co-exists  with  it.  And  I am  at  a loss  to  under- 
stand how  the  Stoic  philosophers  can  presume  to  say  that  these 
are  no  ills,  though  at  the  same  time  they  allow  the  wise  man  to 
commit  suicide  and  pass  out  of  this  life  if  they  become  so  griev- 
ous that  he  cannot  or  ought  not  to  endure  them.  But  such  is  the 
stupid  pride  of  these  men  who  fancy  that  the  supreme  good  can 
be  found  in  this  life,  and  that  they  can  become  happy  by  their 
own  resources,  that  their  wise  man,  or  at  least  the  man  whom 
they  fancifully  depict  as  such,  is  always  happy,  even  though  he 
become  blind,  deaf,  dumb,  mutilated,  racked  with  pains,  or  suf- 
fer any  conceivable  calamity  such  as  may  compel  him  to  make 
away  with  himself;  and  they  are  not  ashamed  to  call  the  life  that 


THE  CITY  OF  GOD 


183 

is  beset  with  these  evils  happy.  O happy  life,  which  seeks  the 
aid  of  death  to  end  it ! If  it  is  happy,  let  the  wise  remain  in  it ; 
but  if  these  ills  drive  him  out  of  it,  in  what  sense  is  it  happy  ? 
Or  how  can  they  say  that  there  are  not  evils  which  conquer  the 
virtue  of  fortitude,  and  force  it  not  only  to  yield,  but  so  tp  rave 
that  it  in  one  breath  calls  life  happy  and  recommends  it  to  be 
given  up?  For  who  is  so  blind  as  not  to  see  that  if  it  were  happy 
it  would  not  be  fled  from  ? And  if  they  say  we  should  flee  from 
it  on  account  of  the  infirmities  that  beset  it,  why  then  do  they 
lower  their  pride  and  acknowledge  that  it  is  miserable?  Was  it, 
I would  ask,  fortitude  or  weakness  which  prompted  Cato  to  kill 
himself  ? for  he  would  not  have  done  so  had  he  not  been  too  weak 
to  endure  Ceesar’s  victory.  Where,  then,  is  his  fortitude?  It  has 
yielded,  it  has  succumbed,  it  has  been  so  thoroughly  overcome 
as  to  abandon,  forsake,  flee  this  happy  life.  Or  was  it  no  longer 
happy  ? Then  it  was  miserable.  How,  then,  were  these  not  evils 
which  made  life  miserable,  and  a thing  to  be  escaped  from  ? 

And  therefore  those  who  admit  that  these  are  evils,  as  the 
Peripatetics  do,  and  the  Old  Academy,  the  sect  which  Varro 
advocates,  express  a more  intelligible  doctrine;  but  theirs  also 
is  a surprising  mistake,  for  they  contend  that  this  is  a happy  life 
which  is  beset  by  these  evils,  even  though  they  be  so  great  that 
he  who  endures  them  should  commit  suicide  to  escape  them. 
“Pains  and  anguish  of  body,”  says  Varro,  “are  evils,  and  so 
much  the  worse  in  proportion  to  their  severity;  and  to  escape 
them  you  must  quit  this  life.”  What  life,  I pray?  This  life  he 
says,  which  is  oppressed  by  such  evils.  Then  it  is  happy  in  the 
midst  of  these  very  evils  on  account  of  which  you  say  we  must 
quit  it?  Or  do  you  call  it  happy  because  you  are  at  liberty  to 
escape  these  evils  by  death  ? What  then,  if  by  some  secret  judg- 
ment of  God  you  were  held  fast  and  not  permitted  to  die,  nor 
suffered  to  live  without  these  evils  ? In  that  case,  at  least,  you 
would  say  that  such  a life  was  miserable.  It  is  soon  relinquished, 
no  doubt,  but  this  does  not  make  it  not  miserable;  for  were  it 
eternal,  you  yourself  would  pronounce  it  miserable.  Its  brevity, 
therefore,  does  not  clear  it  of  misery;  neither  ought  it  to  be  called 
happiness  because  it  is  a brief  misery.  Certainly  there  is  a mighty 


SAINT  AUGUSTINE 


184 

force  in  these  evils  which  compel  a man  — according  to  them, 
even  a wise  man  — to  cease  to  be  a man  that  he  may  escape 
them,  though  they  say,  and  say  truly,  that  it  is  as  it  were  the  first 
and  strongest  demand  of  nature  that  a man  cherish  himself,  and 
naturally  therefore  avoid  death,  and  should  so  stand  his  own 
friend  as  to  wish  and  vehemently  aim  at  continuing  to  exist  as  a 
living  creature,  and  subsisting  in  this  union  of  soul  and  body. 
There  is  a mighty  force  in  these  evils  to  overcome  this  natural 
instinct  by  which  death  is  by  every  means  and  with  all  a man’s 
efforts  avoided,  and  to  overcome  it  so  completely  that  what  was 
avoided  is  desired,  sought  after,  and  if  it  cannot  in  any  other 
way  be  obtained,  is  inflicted  by  the  man  on  himself.  There  is  a 
mighty  force  in  these  evils  which  make  fortitude  a homicide,  — 
if,  indeed,  that  is  to  be  called  fortitude  which  is  so  thoroughly 
overcome  by  these  evils,  that  it  not  only  cannot  preserve  by  pa- 
tience the  man  whom  it  undertook  to  govern  and  defend,  but  is 
itself  obliged  to  kill  him.  The  wise  man,  I admit,  ought  to  bear 
death  with  patience,  but  when  it  is  inflicted  by  another.  If  then 
as  these  men  maintain,  he  is  obliged  to  inflict  it  on  himself,  cer- 
tainly it  must  be  owned  that  the  ills  which  compel  him  to  this 
are  not  only  evils,  but  intolerable  evils. 

The  life,  then,  which  is  either  subject  to  accidents,  or  likewise 
environed  with  evils  so  considerable  and  grievous,  could  never 
have  been  called  happy,  if  the  men  who  give  it  this  name  had 
condescended  to  yield  to  the  truth,  and  to  be  conquered  by  valid 
arguments,  when  they  inquired  after  the  happy  life,  inasmuch 
as  they  yield  to  unhappiness,  and  are  overcome  by  overwhelm- 
ing evils,  when  they  put  themselves  to  death,  and  if  also  they 
had  not  fancied  that  the  supreme  good  was  to  be  found  in  this 
mortal  life.  Indeed  the  very  virtues  of  this  life,  which  are 
certainly  its  best  and  most  useful  possessions,  are  all  the  more 
telling  proofs  of  its  miseries  in  proportion  as  they  are  helpful 
against  the  violence  of  its  dangers,  toils,  and  woes.  For  if  these 
are  true  virtues,  — and  such  cannot  exist  save  in  those  who  have 
true  piety,  — they  do  not  profess  to  be  able  to  deliver  the  men 
who  possess  them  from  all  miseries ; for  true  virtues  tell  no  such 
ties,  but  they  profess  that  by  the  hope  of  the  future  world  this 


THE  CITY  OF  GOD  185 

life,  which  is  miserably  involved  in  the  many  and  great  evils  of 
this  world,  is  happy  as  it  is  also  safe.  For  if  not  yet  safe,  how 
could  it  be  happy?  And  therefore  the  Apostle  Paul,  speaking 
not  of  men  without  prudence,  temperance,  fortitude,  and  jus- 
tice, but  of  those  whose  lives  were  regulated  by  true  piety,  and 
whose  virtues  were  therefore  true,  says,  “For  we  are  saved  by 
hope : now  hope  which  is  seen  is  not  hope ; for  what  a man  seeth, 
why  doth  he  yet  hope  for?  But  if  we  hope  for  that  we  see  not, 
then  do  we  with  patience  wait  for  it.”  * As,  therefore,  we  are 
saved,  so  we  are  made  happy  by  hope.  And  as  we  do  not  yet 
possess  a present  but  look  for  a future  salvation,  so  it  is  with  our 
happiness,  and  this  “with  patience;”  for  we  are  encompassed 
with  evils,  which  we  ought  patiently  to  endure.  Salvation,  such 
as  it  shall  be  in  the  world  to  come,  shall  itself  be  our  final  happi- 
ness. And  this  happiness  these  philosophers  refuse  to  believe  in, 
because  they  do  not  see  it,  and  attempt  to  fabricate  for  them- 
selves a happines  in  this  life,  based  upon  a virtue  which  is  as  de- 
ceitful as  it  is  proud. 


* Rom.  viii.  24. 


PETER  ABELARD 

( 1079-1142) 

ETHICS,  OR  KNOW  THYSELF 

Translated  from  the  Latin  * by 
EDWARD  KENNARD  RAND 

PROLOGUE 

We  give  the  nam^  of  moral  qualities  to  those  vices  or  virtues  of 
the  mind  which  dispose  us  to  bad  or  to  good  deeds.  There  are 
vices  or  excellencies  of  the  body  as  well  as  of  the  mind,  as  bodily 
weakness,  or  the  fortitude  which  we  call  strength,  laziness  or 
alertness,  a limping  gait  or  an  erect  bearing,  blindness  or  sight. 
Hence  to  show  the  difference  of  such  qualities  as  these,  to  the  term 
vices  we  add  of  the  mind.  These  vices,  moreover,  that  are  of  the 
mind,  are  the  opposite  of  the  virtues,  as  injustice  is  the  opposite 
of  justice,  idleness  of  resolution,  intemperance  of  temperance. 

CHAPTER  /.  ON  VICE  OF  THE  MIND,  SO  FAR 
AS  IT  AFFECTS  MORAL  QUALITIES 

There  are  some  vices,  or  excellencies,  of  the  mind  which  are 
dissociated  from  morality,  not  involving  a man’s  life  in  either 
blame  or  praise,  as  mental  quality  or  quickness  of  wit,  a poor 
memory  or  a good  one,  ignorance  or  knowledge.  Such  traits, 
since  they  may  fall  to  the  lot  of  iniquitous  as  well  as  of  good  men, 
have  nothing  to  do  with  the  formation  of  moral  character  and  do 
not  make  a life  disgraceful  or  honorable.  Hence  to  exclude  such 
qualities,  we  well  added  to  our  previous  phrase  vices  of  the  mind, 
the  words  which  dispose  the  vicious  to  had  deeds,  that  is  incline 
the  will  to  something  which  it  is  improper  to  do  or  to  abandon. 


* From  Abelard’s  Ethica,  seu  liber  dictus,  Scito  Te  Ipsum,  which  was  first 
printed  in  B.  Fez’s  Thesaurus  anecdotorum  novissismus,  Aug.  Vind.  1721,  iii.  2. 


ETHICS,  OR  KNOW  THYSELF 


187 


CHAPTER  II.  WHAT  THE  DIFFERENCE  IS 
BETWEEN  SIN  AND  THE  VICE  THAT 
CONDUCES  TO  EVIL 

Now  such  a vice  of  the  mind  is  not  the  same  as  a sin,  nor  a sin 
the  same  as  an  evil  act.  For  example,  to  be  wrathful,  that  is, 
easily  disposed  to  the  perturbation  of  wrath,  is  a vice,  and  in- 
clines the  mind  to  impetuous  and  irrational  action,  a thing  which 
is  improper.  But  this  vice  resides  in  the  mind,  prompting  it,  that 
is,  to  wrathful  feelings  even  when  it  is  not  stirred  unto  wrath, 
just  as  the  quality  of  lameness  from  which  a man  is  called  lame, 
resides  in  him  even  when  he  does  not  show  his  lameness  by  walk- 
ing. In  the  same  way,  too,  many  are  disposed  by  their  nature  or 
their  bodily  constitution  to  wantonness  or  to  wrath ; still  they  do 
not  thereby  sin,  in  being  such,  but  have  therefrom  incentive  to 
battle,  that  by  the  virtue  of  temperance  they  may  triumph  over 
themselves  and  gain  the  crown,  according  to  the  word  of  Solo- 
mon : “ He  that  is  slow  to  anger  is  better  than  the  mighty;  and  he 
that  ruleth  his  spirit  than  he  that  taketh  a city.”  For  it  is  not 
defeat  by  man  but  defeat  by  vice  that  religion  thinks  disgraceful. 
That  lot,  to  be  sure,  may  befall  good  men  too;  in  so  doing,  we 
deviate  from  ourselves.  This  victory  the  Apostle  commends  to 
us,  saying:  “He  is  not  crowned  except  he  strive  lawfully.”  Let 
him  strive,  I say,  resisting  not  men  so  much  as  vices,  lest,  forsooth, 
these  impel  us  to  base  consent.  For  though  men  cease,  vices 
cease  not  to  assail  us,  so  that  the  more  frequent  the  battle  with 
them,  the  more  dangerous,  and  the  harder  the  victory,  the  more 
glorious.  But  when  men  prevail,  they  bring  no  disgrace  upon  our 
life,  save  when,  in  the  manner  of  vices,  turning  us  to  vices,  as  it 
were,  they  subject  us  to  a disgraceful  consent.  If  men  rule  the 
body,  so  long  as  the  mind  is  free,  real  freedom  is  not  in  danger, 
and  we  incur  no  part  of  vulgar  slavery.  For  it  is  not  to  serve  man 
but  to  serve  vice  that  is  disgraceful;  it  is  not  bodily  servitude  but 
subjection  to  the  vices  that  disfigures  the  soul;  for  whatever  is 
shared  by  good  men  and  evil  men  alike  has  no  relation  to  virtue 
or  to  vice. 


i88 


PETER  ABELARD 


CHAPTER  III  WHAT  VICE  OF  THE  MIND  IS, 
AND  WHAT  IS  PR  OPE  RET  CALLED  SIN 

Vice,  therefore,  is  that  whereby  we  are  disposed  to  sin,  that  is, 
are  inclined  to  consent  to  what  is  improper,  namely  either  to  do 
or  to  abandon  it.  But  this  consent  we  properly  call  sin;  that  is, 
guilt  of  the  soul,  whereby  it  merits  damnation  or  is  indicted  be- 
fore God.  For  what  is  that  consent  save  the  contempt  of  God 
and  offence  against  him?  He  in  truth  is  that  supreme  power 
which  is  not  lessened  by  any  harm,  and  yet  he  punishes  contempt 
of  himself.  Our  sin,  therefore,  is  contempt  of  the  Creator,  and 
to  sin  is  to  contemn  the  Creator,  that  is,  not  to  do  for  his  sake 
what  we  believe  should  for  his  sake  be  done  by  us,  or  not  to  aban- 
don for  his  sake  what  we  believe  should  be  abandoned.  There- 
fore in  defining  sin  negatively,  in  speaking,  that  is,  of  not  doing 
or  not  abandoning  what  is  proper,  we  manifestly  show  that 
there  is  no  substance  in  sin,  which  consists  in  not  being  rather 
than  in  being,  just  as  we  may  define  darkness  as  the  absence  of 
light  where  the  light  hid  its  being. 

But  perhaps  you  will  say  that  likewise  the  will  to  do  an  evil 
deed  is  sin,  indicting  us  before  God,  just  as  the  will  to  do  a good 
deed  renders  us  just,  so  that  just  as  virtue  consists  in  a good  will, 
so  sin  in  a bad  will,  and  not  only  in  non-existence,  but  in  exist- 
ence too,  like  virtue:  For  as  by  willing  to  do  what  we  believe  is 
pleasing  to  God,  we  please  him,  so  by  willing  to  do  what  we  be- 
lieve displeases  God,  we  displease  him,  and  seem  to  offend  or 
contemn  him. 

But  I say  that,  if  we  ponder  the  matter  diligently,  we  must 
view  it  as  far  different  from  what  it  appears.  For  since  we  some- 
times sin  without  any  evil  intent,  and  since  it  is  the  bridling,  not 
the  crushing,  of  the  evil  will  which  gives  the  palm  to  the  strug- 
gling, and  secures  for  them  material  for  battle  and  the  crown  of 
glory,  this  will  ought  to  be  called  not  sin,  but  a certain  necessary 
infirmity.  For  suppose  this  case.  A guiltless  man  has  a cruel 
lord,  who  is  roused  to  such  fury  against  him  that  drawing  his 
sword  he  pursues  him  with  intent  to  kill.  The  other,  after  long 


ETHICS,  OR  KNOW  THYSELF  189 

attempting  to  flee,  and  doing  his  best  to  avoid  destruction,  at 
last  is  compelled  against  his  will  to  slay  him  lest  he  himself  be 
slain.  Tell  me,  reader,  whoever  you  may  be,  what  evil  will  did 
he  display  in  this  act  ? In  his  desire  to  escape  death,  naturally,  he 
desired  to  save  his  own  life.  But  was  this  desire  evil  in  any  way  ? 
“Not  that  desire,”  you  will  say,  I suppose,  “but  that  which  he 
had  with  regard  to  the  slaying  of  his  pursuing  master.”  You 
answer  well  and  state  the  matter  clearly,  if  only  you  could  predi- 
cate will  in  the  case  of  which  you  speak.  But,  as  already  said, 
he  acted  unwillingly  and  under  compulsion,  because,  so  far  as 
he  could,  he  preserved  the  other’s  life,  knowing  as  well  that  by 
the  act  of  taking  life  he  endangered  himself.  How  then  did  he 
do  that  of  will,  which  brought  his  own  life  into  danger  ? 

But  if  you  answer  that  this  too  was  done  of  will,  since  it  is 
clearly  from  an  act  of  will,  the  will  to  escape  death,  though  not 
the  will  to  slay  his  master,  that  he  was  rightly  called  to  account, 
we  can  in  no  wise  refute  you;  but,  as  already  said,  that  will  is 
by  no  means  to  be  condemned  as  evil  whereby,  as  you  say,  he 
wished  to  escape  death,  not  to  slay  his  master;  and  yet  he  did 
wrong  in  consenting,  although  compelled  by  the  fear  of  death, 
to  the  unrighteous  act  of  killing,  to  which  he  ought  rather  to 
submit  than  to  commit  it.  He  took  the  sword  of  himself,  he  did 
not  receive  it  from  a superior.  Hence  the  Truth  says;  “All  they 
that  take  the  sword  shall  perish  with  the  sword;”  that  is,  by  this 
rashness,  he  incurred  the  peril  of  damnation  and  the  death  of 
his  own  soul.  He  wished,  therefore,  as  said,  to  escape  death,  not 
to  slay  his  master,  but  because  he  consented  to  slay  him,  as  he 
should  not  have  done,  this  unrighteous  consent  which  preceded 
the  slaying,  was  sin. 


CHAPTER  X.  THAT  A MULTITUDE  OF  GOODS 
IS  NOT  BETTER  THAN  ONE  GOOD 

Now  in  act  and  intention  the  number  of  good  qualities  or  good 
things  seems  not  to  be  involved.  For  when  we  speak  of  good 
intention  and  good  action,  that,  namely,  which  proceeds  from 


PETER  ABELARD 


190 

good  intention,  only  the  goodness  of  the  intention  is  meant;  nor 
is  the  term  good  retained  in  the  same  meaning,  so  that  we  may 
speak  of  several  goods.  For  when  we  say  that  a man  is  simple 
and  a style  is  simple,  we  do  not  thereby  allow  that  these  consti- 
tute several  simple  things,  since  the  term  simple  is  used  differ- 
ently in  the  two  cases.  Nobody  therefore  may  compel  us  to  allow 
that  when  good  action  is  added  to  good  intention  that  good  is 
superadded  to  good,  as  though  there  were  several  goods  in  virtue 
of  which  the  remuneration  should  increase,  since  as  has  been 
said,  we  may  not  rightly  call  those  things  several  goods  to  which 
the  term  good  does  not  apply  in  the  same  way. 


CHAPTER  XL  THAT  GOOD  INTENTION  MAKES 
THE  ACT  GOOD 

Intention,  manifestly,  we  declare  to  be  good,  that  is,  right  in 
itself,  but  action  to  be  good,  not  that  it  takes  some  good  into  it- 
self, but  that  it  proceeds  from  good  intention.  Hence  though  the 
same  thing  may  be  done  by  the  same  man  at  different  times,  yet 
owing  to  the  diversity  of  his  intention,  the  action  is  called  now 
good,  now  bad,  and  thus  is  seen  to  vary  with  respect  to  good  and 
bad,  just  as  the  proposition  Socrates  sits,  or  the  understanding 
of  the  same,  varies  with  respect  to  true  and  false,  as  Socrates 
now  sits  and  now  stands.  Now  this  change  and  variation  in 
respect  to  true  and  false,  Aristotle  declares,  takes  place  in  these 
as  follows ; not  that  the  very  things  that  are  changed  with  respect 
to  true  and  false  receive  something  by  their  change,  but  that  the 
subject,  that  is  Socrates,,  in  itself  moves,  namely  from  sitting  to 
standing,  or  conversely. 

CHAPTER  XII.  FOR  WHAT  CAUSE  INTENTION 
MAT  BE  CALLED  GOOD 

There  are  those  who  think  intention  is  good  or  right,  as  often 
as  one  believes  that  he  is  acting  well  and  that  that  which  he  does 
pleases  God;  as  those  men  did  who  persecuted  the  martyrs,  of 


ETHICS,  OR  KNOW  THYSELF 


191 

which  the  Truth  declares  in  the  Gospel:  “The  time  cometh  that 
whosoever  killeth  you  will  think  that  he  doeth  God  service.”  Of 
the  ignorance  of  such,  the  Apostle  says  with  compassion:  “I 
bear  them  record  that  they  have  a zeal  of  God,  but  not  according 
to  knowledge,”  that  is,  they  show  great  fervor  and  desire  in  doing 
those  things  which  they  believe  please  God ; but  because  in  this 
zeal  or  desire  of  their  hearts  they  are  deceived,  their  intention  is 
erroneous,  nor  is  the  eye  of  their  heart  single,  that  it  may  see 
clearly,  that  is,  guard  itself  from  error.  The  Lord  took  pains, 
therefore,  when  he  distinguished  acts  according  to  righteous  or 
unrighteous  intentions,  to  call  the  eye  of  the  mind,  that  is  the 
intention,  single,  and,  so  to  speak,  clear  of  dirt,  that  it  might  see 
clearly,  or  conversely,  dark,  when  he  said : “ If  thine  eye  be  single, 
thy  whole  body  shall  be  full  of  light,”  that  is,  if  the  intention  be 
right,  the  whole  mass  of  acts  which  issue  thence  and  which  in  the 
fashion  of  things  corporeal  may  be  seen,  will  be  worthy  of  light, 
that  is  good;  and  so  conversely.  Intention, . therefore,  is  not  to 
be  called  good  because  it  seems  good,  but,  further,  because  it  is 
such  as  it  is  esteemed ; since  forsooth,  that  to  which  it  tends,  if  it 
believes  that  it  is  pleasing  God,  is  never  deceived  in  this  further 
estimation  of  it.  Otherwise  even  the  very  infidels  would  per- 
form good  acts  even  as  we,  since  they  no  less  than  we  believe 
that  by  their  works  they  are  saved,  or  are  pleasing  to  God. 


THOMAS  AQUINAS 

( 1225-1274) 

AQUINAS  ETHICUS 

Translated  from  the  Latin  * by 
JOSEPH  RICKABY 

QUESTION  LF.  OF  VIRTUES  IN  THEIR  ESSENCE 

Article  I.  — Is  human  virtue  a habit? 

R.  Virtue  denotes  some  perfection  of  a power.  The  perfection 
or  everything  is  estimated  chiefly  in  regard  to  its  end : now  the  end 
of  power  is  action : hence  a power  is  said  to  be  perfect  inasmuch  as 
it  is  determined  to  its  act.  Now  there  are  powers  which  are  deter- 
mined of  themselves  to  their  acts,  as  the  active  powers  of  physical 
nature.  But  the  rational  powers,  which  are  proper  to  man,  are 
not  determined  to  one  line  of  action,  but  are  open  indeterminately 
to  many,  and  are  determined  to  acts  by  habits.  And  therefore  hu- 
man virtues  are  habits. 

§ 3.  We  are  said  to  merit  by  a thing  in  two  ways : in  one  way 
as  by  the  merit  itself,  in  the  same  way  that  we  are  said  to  run  by 
running ; and  in  this  way  we  merit  by  acts.  In  another  way  we  are 
said  to  merit  by  a thing  as  by  a principle  of  merit,  as  we  are  said 
to  run  by  motive  power;  and  thus  we  are  said  to  merit  by  virtues 
and  habits. 


QUESTION  EVIL  OF  THE  VARIOUS  INTED 
LECTUAL  VIRTUES 

Article  I.  — Are  speculative  habits  of  intellect  virtues  ? 

R.  A habit  is  called  a virtue  in  two  ways : in  one  way  because 
it  produces  a readiness  for  well-doing;  in  another  way  because 

* From  Sumvta  Theologiae,  Basil.,  1485.  Reprinted  from  Aquinas  Ethicus, 
or  the  Moral  Teachutg  of  St.  Thomas,  translated  by  Joseph  Rickaby,  S.  J., 
London,  Burns  and  Oates,  Ltd.,  1896,  vol.  i. 


SUMMA  THEOLOGIAE 


193 


along  with  the  readiness  it  produces  the  use  of  the  same  to  the 
actual  doing  of  good.  This  latter  characteristic  belongs  only  to 
those  habits  which  regard  the  appetitive  faculty:  because  the 
appetitive  faculty  it  is  that  brings  about  the  use  of  all  powers  and 
habits.  Since  then  speculative  habits  of  intellect  do  not  perfect 
the  appetitive  faculty,  nor  regard  it  at  all,  but  only  the  intellectual 
faculty,  such  habits  may  indeed  be  called  virtues,  inasmuch  as 
they  make  a readiness  to  that  good  work,  the  consideration  of 
truth,  which  is  the  good  work  of  the  intellect.  They  are  not  how- 
ever called  virtues  in  the  second  sense  of  the  term,  as  causing  one 
to  put  a power  or  habit  to  actual  good  use.  For  a man  is  not  in- 
clined to  use  the  habit  of  speculative  science  by  the  mere  fact  of 
possessing  it : he  simply  has  the  ability  of  contemplating  the  truth 
in  the  matters  upon  which  his  science  turns.  But  his  using  the 
science  that  he  has  comes  of  the  motion  of  his  will.  And  therefore 
a virtue  which  perfects  the  will,  as  charity  or  justice,  also  causes 
one  to  make  good  use  of  speculative  habits. 

Article  II.  — Are  there  only  three  speculative  habits  of  intel- 
lect, namely  wisdom,  science,  and  intuition? 

R.  The  virtue  of  the  speculative  intellect  is  that  which  perfects 
the  said  intellect  for  the  consideration  of  truth,  such  being  the 
good  work  proper  to  it.  Now  truth  offers  itself  to  consideration  in 
two  shapes : in  the  shape  of  something  known  of  itself,  and  in  the 
shape  of  something  known  through  something  else.  What  is 
known  of  itself  is  a principle  perceived  by  the  intellect  at  a glance; 
and  therefore  the  habit  that  perfects  the  intellect  for  the  consider- 
ation of  such  truth  is  called  intellect,  or  intuition,  which  is  a hold 
upon  principles.  The  truth  that  is  known  through  something  else 
is  not  taken  in  by  the  intellect  at  a glance,  but  is  gathered  by 
inquiry  of  reason,  and  stands  as  the  termination  of  a reasoning 
process.  This  may  be  in  two  ways : either  that  the  goal  is  final  in 
some  particular  kind ; or  that  it  is  final  in  respect  of  all  human 
knowledge.  About  the  latter  goal  wisdom  is  conversant,  which 
considers  the  highest  causes,  and  hence  is  apt  to  judge  and 
ordain  on  all  points,  because  a perfect  and  universal  judgment 
cannot  be  got  except  by  carrying  matters  back  to  their  first 


194  THOMAS  AQUINAS 

causes.  Science,  on  the  other  hand,  perfects  the  intellect  in  regard 
of  what  is  a final  goal  in  this  or  that  kind  of  knowable  things;  and 
therefore  there  are  different  sciences,  according  to  the  different 
kinds  of  things  to  be  known,  but  only  one  wisdom. 

Article  III.  — Is  the  habit  of  intellect  called  art  a virtue  ? 

R.  Art  is  nothing  else  than  a right  method  of  doing  certain 
works,  the  goodness  of  which  works  consists  not  in  any  disposi- 
tion of  the  appetitive  powers  of  man,  but  in  the  excellence  of  the 
work  itself  as  turned  out.  It  is  nothing  to  the  praise  of  the  arti- 
ficer as  such,  with  what  will  he  goes  to  work,  but  what  sort  of 
work  he  produces.  Thus  then  art,  properly  speaking,  is  a habit  of 
external  activity.  And  yet  it  has  this  point  in  common  with  specu- 
lative habits,  that  speculative  habits  also  are  occupied  with  the 
quality  of  the  things  they  consider,  and  not  with  the  quality  of  the 
human  appetite  in  regard  of  those  things.  So  long  as  the  geomet- 
rical demonstration  is  correct,  it  matters  not  how  the  geometer 
stands  in  his  appetitive  faculty,  whether  he  be  in  joy  or  in  anger, 
as  neither  does  it  matter  in  the  artificer.  And  therefore  art  is  a 
virtue  on  the  same  footing  as  speculative  habits : that  is  to  say, 
neither  art  nor  speculative  habits  produce  a good  work  in  actual 
exercise,  for  that  is  proper  to  the  virtue  that  perfects  the  appetite, 
but  only  in  point  of  preparedness  for  well-doing. 

Article  IV.  — Is  prudence  a distinct  virtue  from  art  ? 

R.  Art  is  a right  method  of  production;  while  prudence  is  a right 
method  of  conduct.  Now  production  and  conduct  differ;  for  pro- 
duction is  an  act  passing  into  exterior  matter,  as  building,  cutting, 
and  the  like ; but  conduct  is  an  act  abiding  in  the  agent,  as  seeing, 
willing,  and  so  forth.  Prudence  then  stands  to  human  acts  of  this 
latter  sort,  which  are  uses  of  powers  and  habits,  as  art  stands  to 
exterior  productions:  each  being  a perfect  method  in  respect  of 
the  operations  to  which  it  refers.  Now  in  speculation  the  per- 
fection and  correctness  of  the  procedure  depends  on  the  princi- 
ples whence  reason  argues.  In  human  acts  the  ends  in  view  are 
as  the  principles  in  speculation.  And  therefore  for  prudence, 
which  is  a right  method  of  conduct,  it  is  requisite  that  a man  be 


SUMMA  THEOLOGIAE 


195 


well  disposed  in  respect  of  the  ends  and  aims  of  his  action ; and  he 
is  so  disposed  by  having  his  appetitive  faculty  right.  And  there- 
fore for  prudence  there  is  required  moral  virtue,  which  is  the 
rectification  of  appetite.  The  goodness  of  works  of  art,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  not  any  goodness  of  the  human  appetite,  but  of  the 
works  in  themselves;  and  therefore  art  does  not  presume  the 
rectification  of  appetite.  Hence  it  is  that  an  artist  is  more  praised 
who  does  wrong  voluntarily  than  another  who  does  wrong  invol- 
untarily : but  it  is  more  against  prudence  to  do  wrong  voluntarily 
than  involuntarily : because  rectitude  of  will  is  of  the  essence  of 
prudence,  but  not  of  the  essence  of  art. 

Article  V.  — Is  prudence  a virtue  necessary  to  man  ? 

R.  Prudence  is  a virtue  especially  necessary  to  human  life. 
For  to  live  well  is  to  work  well,  or  display  a good  activity.  Now 
for  activity  to  be  good,  care  must  be  taken  not  only  of  what  the 
agent  does,  but  of  how  he  does  it : to  wit,  that  he  go  to  work  ac- 
cording to  a right  election,  not  by  the  mere  impetus  of  passion. 
But  since  election  is  of  means  to  the  end,  rightness  of  election 
requires  two  things,  a due  end  and  a proper  direction  of  means  to 
that  due  end.  Now  to  the  due  end  man  is  properly  disposed  by 
the  virtue  which  perfects  the  appetitive  part  of  the  soul,  the  object 
whereof  is  that  which  is  good  and  that  which  ranks  as  an  end. 
But  towards  the  proper  direction  of  means  to  a due  end  a man 
must  be  positively  disposed  by  a habit  of  reason : because  deliber- 
ation and  election,  which  are  about  means  to  the  end,  are  acts  of 
reason.  And  therefore  there  must  be  in  the  reason  some  intellect- 
ual virtue,  whereby  the  reason  may  be  perfected  so  as  suitably  to 
regard  the  means  to  the  end;  and  that  virtue  is  prudence. 

§ I.  Artistic  goodness  is  looked  for,  not  in  the  artist  himself, 
but  rather  in  the  thing  wrought  by  art,  since  art  is  a right  method 
of  production ; for  production,  passing  as  it  does  on  to  exterior 
matter,  is  not  a perfection  of  the  producer,  but  of  the  thing  pro- 
duced. Art  then  is  about  matters  of  production.  But  the  good- 
ness of  prudence  is  looked  for  in  the  agent  himself,  whose  action 
and  conduct  is  his  perfection;  for  prudence  is  a right  method  of 
conduct.  And  therefore  for  art  it  is  not  requisite  that  the  artist’s 


196  THOMAS  AQUINAS 

own  activity  should  be  good,  but  that  he  should  turn  cut  a good 
piece  of  work.  And  therefore  art  is  not  necessary  for  the  artist  to 
live  well,  but  only  to  make  the  thing  wrought  by  art  good  and  to 
preserve  the  same;  but  prudence  is  necessary  for  a man  to  live 
well,  not  only  for  him  to  become  good. 

QUESTION  LVIIL  OF  THE  DISTINCTION  OF 
MORAL  VIRTUES  FROM  INTELLECTUAL 

Article  I.  — Is  all  virtue  moral  ? 

R.  We  must  consider  what  the  (Latin)  word  mos  means;  for  so 
we  shall  be  able  to  know  what  moral  virtue  is.  Mos  has  two  mean- 
ings: sometimes  it  means  custom;  sometimes  it  means  a sort  of 
natural  or  quasi-natural  inclination  to  do  a thing.  These  two 
meanings  are  distinguished  in  Greek,  f;0o9.  Moral  virtue 
is  so  called  from  mos,  inasmuch  as  the  word  signifies  a certain 
natural  or  quasi-natural  inclination  to  do  a thing.  And  to  this 
meaning  the  other  meaning  of  custom  is  allied : for  custom  in  a 
manner  turns  into  nature,  and  makes  an  inclination  like  to  that 
which  is  natural.  But  it  is  manifest  that  the  inclination  to  act  is 
properly  to  be  attributed  to  the  appetitive  faculty,  the  function 
whereof  is  to  move  the  other  powers  to  action.  And  there- 
fore not  every  virtue  is  called  moral,  but  that  only  which  is  in  the 
appetitive  faculty. 

Article  II.  — Is  moral  virtue  distinct  from  intellectual  ? 

R.  Reason  is  the  first  principle  of  all  human  acts:  all  other 
principles  obey  reason,  though  in  different  degrees.  Some  obey 
reason’s  every  beck  without  any  contradiction,  as  do  the  limbs  of 
the  body  if  they  are  in  their  normal  state.  Hence  the  Philosopher 
says  that  “the  soul  rules  the  body  with  a despotic  command,”  as 
the  master  rules  the  slave,  who  has  no  right  to  contradict.  Some 
authorities  have  laid  it  down  that  all  the  active  principles  in  man 
stand  in  this  way  subordinate  to  reason.  If  that  were  true,  it 
would  suffice  for  well-doing  to  have  the  reason  perfect.  Hence  as 
virtue  is  a habit  whereby  we  are  perfected  towards  well-doing,  it 


SUMMA  THEOLOGIAE 


197 


would  follow  that  virtue  was  in  reason  alone;  and  thus  there 
would  be  no  virtue  but  that  which  is  intellectual.  Such  was  the 
opinion  of  Socrates,  who  said  that  all  virtues  were  modes  of  pru- 
dence. Hence  he  laid  it  down  that  man,  while  knowledge  was 
present  in  him,  could  not  sin,  but  that  whoever  sinned,  sinned 
through  ignorance.  This  argumentation,  however,  goes  on  a false 
supposition : for  the  appetitive  part  is  obedient  to  reason,  not  to 
every  beck,  but  with  some  contradiction.  Hence  the  Philosopher 
says  that  “reason  commands  appetite  with  a constitutional  com- 
mand,” like  to  that  authority  which  a parent  has  over  his  chil- 
dren, who  have  in  some  respects  the  right  of  contradiction. 
Hence  Augustine  says,  “Sometimes  understanding  goes  before, 
and  tardy  or  none  the  affection  that  follows  after:”  inasmuch  as, 
owing  to  passions  or  habits  in  the  appetitive  faculty,  the  use  of 
reason  on  some  particular  point  is  impeded.  And  to  this  extent  it 
is  in  some  sort  true  what  Socrates  said,  that  “ in  the  presence  of 
knowledge  sin  is  not,”  provided  that  the  knowledge  here  spoken 
of  be  taken  to  include  the  use  of  reason  on  the  particular  point 
that  is  matter  of  choice.  Thus  then  for  well-doing  it  is  required 
that  not  only  reason  be  well  disposed  by  the  habit  of  intellectual 
virtue,  but  also  that  the  appetitive  power  be  well  disposed  by  the 
habit  of  moral  virtue.  As  then  appetite  is  distinct  from  reason, 
so  is  moral  virtue  distinct  from  intellectual.  Hence  as  appetite  is 
a principle  of  human  action  by  being  in  a manner  partaker  of 
reason,  so  a moral  habit  has  the  character  of  a human  virtue  by 
being  conformable  to  reason. 

Article  HI.  — Is  the  division  of  virtues  into  moral  and  intel- 
lectual an  exhaustive  division? 

R.  Human  virtue  is  a habit  perfecting  man  unto  well-doing. 
Now  the  principle  of  human  acts  in  man  is  only  twofold,  namely, 
intellect  or  reason,  and  appetite.  Hence  every  human  virtue  must 
be  perfective  of  one  or  other  of  these  two  principles.  If  it  is  per- 
fective of  the  speculative  or  practical  intellect  towards  a good 
human  act,  it  will  be  intellectual  virtue : if  it  is  perfective  of  the 
appetitive  part,  it  will  be  moral  virtue. 

§ I.  Prudence  in  its  essence  is  an  intellectual  virtue:  but  in  its 


198  THOMAS  AQUINAS 

subject-matter  it  falls  in  with  the  moral  virtues,  being  a right 
method  of  conduct;  and  in  this  respect  it  is  counted  among  the 
moral  virtues. 

§ 2.  Continence  and  perseverance  are  not  perfections  of  the 
sensitive  appetite,  as  is  evident  from  this,  that  in  the  continent  and 
in  the  persevering  man  there  are  inordinate  passions  to  excess, 
which  would  not  be  the  case  if  the  sensitive  appetite  were  per- 
fected by  any  habit  conforming  it  to  reason.  But  continence,  or 
perseverance,  is  a perfection  of  the  rational  faculty,  holding  out 
against  passion  so  as  not  to  be  carried  away.  Nevertheless  it  falls 
short  of  the  character  and  rank  of  virtue;  because  that  intellectual 
virtue  which  makes  the  reason  stand  well  in  moral  matters  sup- 
poses the  appetitive  faculty  to  be  rightly  bent  upon  the  end, 
which  is  not  the  case  with  the  continent  and  with  the  persevering 
man.  For  no  operation  proceeding  from  two  powers  can  be  per- 
fect, unless  each  of  the  two  powers  be  perfected  by  the  due  habit: 
as  there  does  not  follow  a perfect  action  on  the  part  of  one  acting 
through  an  instrument,  if  the  instrument  be  not  well  disposed, 
however  perfect  be  the  principal  agent.  Hence,  if  the  sensitive 
appetite,  which  the  rational  faculty  moves,  be  not  perfect,  how- 
ever perfect  be  the  rational  faculty  itself,  still  the  action  ensuing 
will  not  be  perfect:  hence  the  principle  of  action  will  not  be  a 
virtue.  And  therefore  continence  from  pleasures  and  perseverance 
in  the  midst  of  sorrows  are  not  virtues,  but  something  less  than 
virtue,  as  the  Philosopher  says.‘ 

§ 3.  Faith,  hope,  and  charity  are  above  human  virtues;  for 
they  are  the  virtues  of  man  as  he  is  made  partaker  of  divine  grace. 

Article  IV.  — Can  there  be  moral  virtue  without  intellectual? 

R.  Moral  virtue  may  be  without  some  intellectual  virtues,  as 
without  wisdom,  science,  and  art,  but  it  cannot  be  without  intui- 
tion and  prudence.  Moral  virtue  cannot  be  without  prudence, 
because  moral  virtue  is  an  elective  habit,  making  a good  election. 
Now  to  the  goodness  of  an  election  two  things  are  requisite : first, 
a due  intention  of  the  end  — and  that  is  secured  by  moral  virtue, 
which  inclines  the  appetitive  powers  to  good  in  accordance  with 

* Aristotle’s  Ethics,  book  vii. 


SUMMA  THEOLOGIAE 


199 


reason,  which  is  the  due  end ; secondly,  it  is  required  that  the  per- 
son make  a right  application  of  means  to  the  end,  and  this  cannot 
be  except  by  the  aid  of  reason,  rightly  counselling,  judging,  and 
prescribing : all  which  offices  belong  to  prudence  and  the  virtues 
annexed  thereto.  Hence  moral  virtue  cannot  be  without  pru- 
dence, and  consequently  not  without  intuition  either : for  by  the 
aid  of  intuition  principles  are  apprehended,  such  principles  as 
are  naturally  knowable,  both  in  speculative  and  in  practical  mat- 
ters. Hence  as  right  reason  in  matters  of  speculation,  proceeding 
on  principles  naturally  known,  presupposes  the  intuition  of  prin- 
ciples, so  also  does  prudence,  being  right  reason  applied  to  con- 
duct, presuppose  the  same  intuition  or  insight. 

§ 2.  In  a virtuous  person  it  is  not  necessary  for  the  use  of  reason 
to  be  vigorous  on  all  points,  but  only  in  those  things  that  are  to  be 
done  according  to  virtue,  and  to  this  extent  the  use  of  reason  is 
vigorous  in  all  virtuous  persons.  Hence  even  they  who  seem  to  be 
simple,  and  to  lack  worldly  wisdom,  may  be  prudent  persons  for 
all  that,  according  to  the  text : “ Be  ye  wise  as  serpents  and  simple 
as  doves.”  ^ 

§ 3.  A natural  inclination  to  the  good  that  is  in  virtue  is  a 
beginning  of  virtue,  but  it  is  not  perfect  virtue.  For  the  more 
perfect  such  inclination  is,  the  more  dangerous  may  it  prove, 
unless  right  reason  be  conjoined  with  it,  to  make  a right  election 
of  proper  means  to  a due  end.  Thus  a blind  horse  runs  amuck; 
and  the  higher  its  speed,  the  more  it  hurts  itself. 

Article  V.  — Can  there  he  intellectual  virtue  without  moral  ? 

R.  Other  intellectual  virtues  can  be  without  moral  virtue,  but 
prudence  cannot.  The  reason  is  because  prudence  is  right  reason 
applied  to  conduct,  and  that  not  only  in  general,  but  also  in  par- 
ticular, as  actions  are  particular.  But  right  reason  demands  pre- 
established  principles,  and  on  them  it  proceeds.  Now  in  particu- 
lar matters  reason  must  proceed  not  only  on  general  but  also  on 
particular  principles.  As  for  general  principles  of  conduct,  man 
is  kept  right  on  these  points  by  his  natural  insight  into  principles, 
whereby  he  knows  that  no  evil  is  to  be  done,  or  again  by  some 


' St.  Matt.  X.  16. 


200  THOMAS  AQUINAS 

piece  of  practical  knowledge.  But  this  is  not  sufficient  for  reason- 
ing aright  in  particular  cases.  For  it  happens  sometimes  that  a 
general  principle  of  this  sort,  ascertained  by  intuition  or  by 
science,  is  set  aside  in  a particular  case  by  some  passion.  Thus 
when  desire  gets  the  better  of  a man,  that  seems  good  which  he 
desires,  though  it  be  against  the  general  judgment  of  reason.  And 
therefore  as  man  is  disposed  by  natural  insight,  or  by  a habit  of 
science,  to  hold  himself  aright  in  respect  of  general  principles,  so, 
to  keep  right  in  respect  of  particular  principles  of  conduct,  which 
are  ends  of  action,  he  must  be  perfected  by  certain  habits  that 
make  it  in  a manner  connatural  to  him  to  judge  rightly  of  the  end. 
And  this  is  done  by  moral  virtue:  for  the  virtuous  man  judges 
rightly  of  the  end  that  virtue  should  aim  at,  because  “as  each  one 
is,  so  does  the  end  appear  to  him.”  And  therefore  for  prudence, 
or  the  application  of  right  reason  to  conduct,  it  is  requisite  for 
man  to  have  moral  virtue. 


QUESTION  LXL  OF  THE  CARDINAL  VIRTUES 

Article  II.  — Are  there  four  cardinal  virtues? 

R.  The  formal  principle  of  virtue  is  rational  good;  and  that 
may  be  considered  in  two  ways  — in  one  way  as  consisting  in  the 
mere  consideration  of  reason;  and  in  that  way  there  will  be  one 
principal  virtue,  which  is  called  prudence:  in  another  way  accord- 
ing as  a rational  order  is  established  in  some  matter,  and  that, 
either  in  the  matter  of  actions,  and  so  there  is  justice;  or  in  the 
matter  of  passions,  and  so  there  must  be  two  virtues.  For  rational 
order  must  be  established  in  the  matter  of  the  passions  with  regard 
to  their  repugnance  to  reason.  Now  this  repugnance  may  be  in 
two  ways : in  one  way  by  passion  impelling  to  something  contrary 
to  reason ; and  for  that,  passion  must  be  tempered,  or  repressed : 
hence  temperance  takes  its  name ; in  another  way  by  passion  hold- 
ing back  from  that  which  reason  dictates ; and  for  that,  man  must 
put  his  foot  down  there  where  reason  places  him,  not  to  budge 
from  thence : and  so  fortitude  gets  its  name.  And  in  like  manner 
according  to  subjects  the  same  number  is  found.  For  we  observe 


SUMMA  THEOLOGIAE 


201 


a fourfold  subject  of  this  virtue  whereof  we  speak : to  wit,  the  part 
rational  hy  essence,  which  prudence  perfects;  and  the  part  rational 
by  participation,  which  is  divided  into  three,  namely,  the  will,  the 
subject  of  justice;  the  concupiscible  faculty,  the  subject  of  temper- 
ance; and  the  irascible  faculty,  the  subject  of  fortitude. 

Article  IV.  — Do  the  jour  cardinal  virtues  differ  one  from 
another  ? 

R.  The  four  virtues  above-mentioned  are  differently  under- 
stood by  different  authors.  Some  take  them  as  meaning  certain 
general  conditions  of  the  human  mind  which  are  found  in  all  vir- 
tues, so  that  prudence  is  nothing  else  than  a certain  correctness  of 
discernment  in  any  acts  or  matters  whatsoever;  justice  is  a certain 
rectitude  of  mind  whereby  a man  does  what  he  ought  to  do  in  any 
matter;  temperance  is  a disposition  of  mind,  which  sets  bounds  to 
all  manner  of  passions  or  actions,  that  they  may  not  exceed; 
while  fortitude  is  a disposition  of  the  soul  whereby  it  is  strength- 
ened in  what  is  according  to  reason  against  all  manner  of  assaults 
of  passion  or  toil  of  active  labours.  This  fourfold  distinction  does 
not  involve  any  difference  of  virtuous  habits  so  far  as  justice, 
temperance,  and  fortitude  are  concerned.  For  to  every  virtue  by 
the  fact  of  its  being  a habit  there  attaches  a certain  firmness,  so 
that  it  may  not  be  moved  by  any  impulse  to  the  contrary;  and  this 
has  been  said  to  be  a point  of  fortitude.  Also  from  the  fact  of  its 
being  a it  has  a direction  towards  good,  wherein  is  involved 
the  notion  of  something  right  and  due,  which  was  said  to  be  a 
point  of  justice.  Again,  by  the  fact  of  its  being  a moral  virtue  par- 
taking in  reason,  it  has  that  which  makes  it  observe  the  bounds  of 
reason  in  all  things,  and  not  go  beyond,  which  was  said  to  be  a 
point  of  temperance.  Only  the  having  of  discretion,  which  was 
attributed  to  prudence,  seems  to  be  distinguished  from  the  other 
three  points,  inasmuch  as  this  belongs  to  reason  essentially  so 
called,  whereas  the  other  three  involve  only  a certain  participa- 
tion in  reason  by  way  of  application  thereof  to  passions  or  acts. 
Thus  then  on  the  foregoing  reckoning,  prudence  would  be  a 
virtue  distinct  from  the  other  three ; but  the  other  three  would  not 
be  virtues  distinct  from  one  another.  For  it  is  manifest  that 


202  THOMAS  AQUINAS 

one  and  the  same  virtue  is  at  once  a hahit,  and  a virtue,  and  is 
moral. 

Others  better  understand  these  four  virtues  as  being  deter- 
mined to  special  matters,  each  of  them  to  one  matter,  so  that 
every  virtue  which  produces  that  goodness  which  lies  in  the  con- 
sideration of  reason,  is  called  prudence;  and  every  virtue  which 
produces  that  goodness  which  consists  in  what  is  due  and  right  in 
action,  is  called  justice;  and  every  virtue  which  restrains  and  re- 
presses the  passions,  is  called  temperance;  and  every  virtue  which 
produces  a firmness  of  soul  against  all  manner  of  sufferings,  is 
called  fortitude.  On  this  arrangement  it  is  manifest  that  the 
aforesaid  virtues  are  different  habits,  distinct  according  to  the 
diversity  of  their  objects. 


QUESTION  LXII.  OF  THE  THEOLOGICAL  VIRTUES 

Article  I.  — Are  there  any  theological  virtues? 

R.  By  virtue  man  is  perfected  unto  the  acts  whereby  he  is  set 
in  the  way  to  happiness.  Now  there  is  a twofold  happiness  of 
man;  one  proportionate  to  human  nature,  whereunto  man  can 
arrive  by  the  principles  of  his  own  nature.  Another  happiness 
there  is  exceeding  the  nature  of  man,  whereunto  man  can  arrive 
only  by  a divine  virtue  involving  a certain  participation  in  the 
Deity,  according  as  it  is  said  that  by  Christ  we  are  made  “par- 
takers of  the  divine  nature.”  ^ And  because  this  manner  of 
happiness  exceeds  the  capacities  of  human  nature,  the  natural 
principles  of  human  action,  on  which  man  proceeds  to  such 
well-doing  as  is  in  proportion  with  himself,  suffice  not  to  di- 
rect man  unto  the  aforesaid  happiness.  Hence  there  must  be 
superadded  to  man  by  the  gift  of  God  certain  principles,  whereby 
he  may  be  put  on  the  way  to  supernatural  happiness,  even  as  he 
is  directed  to  his  connatural  end  by  natural  principles,  yet  not 
without  the  divine  aid.  Such  principles  are  called  theological 
virtues:  both  because  they  have  God  for  their  object,  inasmuch 
as  by  them  we  are  directed  aright  to  God;  as  also  because  it  is 


* 2 St.  Peter,  i.  4. 


SUMMA  THEOLOGIAE 


203 

only  by  divine  revelation  in  Holy  Scripture  that  such  virtues  are 
taught. 

Article  II.  — Are  theological  virtues  distinct  from  virtues 
intellectual  and  moral  ? 

R.  Habits  are  specifically  distinct  according  to  the  formal  dif- 
ference of  their  objects.  But  the  object  of  the  theological  virtues 
is  God  Himself,  the  last  end  of  all  things,  as  He  transcends  the 
knowledge  of  our  reason : whereas  the  object  of  the  intellectual 
and  moral  virtues  is  something  that  can  be  comprehended  by 
hiflnan  reason.  Hence  theological  virtues  are  specifically  distinct 
from  virtues  moral  and  intellectual. 

§ I.  The  intellectual  and  moral  virtues  perfect  the  intellect  and 
appetite  of  man  according  to  the  capacity  of  human  nature,  but 
the  theological  virtues  supernaturally. 

Article  III.  — Are  faith,  hope,  and  charity  fitly  assigned  as 
the  theological  virtues  ? 

R.  The  theological  virtues  set  man  in  the  way  of  supernatural 
happiness,  as  he  is  directed  to  his  connatural  end  by  a natural 
inclination.  This  latter  direction  is  worked  out  in  two  ways : first, 
by  way  of  the  reason  or  intellect,  as  that  power  holds  in  its  know- 
ledge the  general  principles  of  rational  procedure,  theoretical  and 
practical,  known  by  the  light  of  nature ; secondly,  by  the  rectitude 
of  the  will  naturally  tending  to  rational  good.  But  both  these 
agencies  fall  short  of  the  order  of  supernatural  good.  Hence  for 
both  of  them  some  supernatural  addition  was  necessary  to  man, 
to  direct  him  to  a supernatural  end.  On  the  side  of  the  intellect 
man  receives  the  addition  of  certain  supernatural  principles, 
which  are  perceived  by  divine  light;  and  these  are  the  objects  of 
belief,  with  which  faith  is  conversant.  Secondly,  there  is  the  will, 
which  is  directed  to  the  supernatural  end,  both  by  way  of  an 
affective  movement  directed  thereto  as  to  a point  possible  to  gain, 
and  this  movement  belongs  to  hope;  and  by  way  of  a certain 
spiritual  union,  whereby  the  will  is  in  a manner  transformed 
into  that  end,  which  union  and  transformation  is  wrought  by 
charity.  For  the  appetite  of  every  being  has  a natural  motion  and 


204 


THOMAS  AQUINAS 


tendency  towards  an  end  connatural  to  itself;  and  that  move- 
ment arises  from  some  sort  of  conformity  of  the  thing  to  its  end. 

§ 2.  Faith  and  hope  denote  a certain  imperfection:  because 
faith  is  of  the  things  that  are  seen  not,  and  hope  of  the  things  that 
are  possessed  not.  Hence  to  have  faith  in  and  hope  of  the  things 
that  are  amenable  to  human  power,  is  a falling  short  of  the  char- 
acter of  virtue.  But  to  have  faith  in  and  hope  of  the  things  that 
are  beyond  the  ability  of  human  nature,  transcends  all  virtue  pro- 
portionate to  man,  according  to  the  text:  “The  weakness  of  God 
is  stronger  than  men.”  ^ 

• 

QUESTION  LXIII.  OF  THE  CAUSE  OF  VIRTUES 

Article  I.  — Is  virtue  in  us  by  nature  ? 

R.  As  regards  sciences  and  virtues  some  have  laid  it  down  that 
they  are  totally  from  within,  meaning  that  all  virtues  and  sciences 
naturally  pre-exist  in  the  soul,  and  that  discipline  and  exercise  do 
no  more  than  remove  the  obstacles  to  virtue  and  science,  which 
arise  in  the  soul  from  the  lumpishness  of  the  body,  as  when  iron  is 
polished  by  filing;  and  this  was  the  opinion  of  the  Platonists. 
Others,  on  the  contrary,  have  said  that  they  are  totally  from  with- 
out. Others  again  have  said  that  in  aptitude  the  sciences  and 
virtues  are  in  us  by  nature,  but  not  in  perfection.  So  says  the 
Philosopher,  and  this  is  the  more  correct  thing  to  say.  In  evidence 
whereof  we  must  consider  th^t  a thing  is  said  to  be  natural  to  man 
in  two  ways : in  one  way  according  to  the  nature  of  the  species,  in 
another  way  according  to  the  nature  of  the  individual.  And 
because  everidhing  has  its  species  according  to  its  form,  and  is 
individualized  according  to  its  matter:  and  man’s  form  is  his 
rational  soul,  and  his  matter  his  body;  therefore  that  which 
belongs  to  man  by  virtue  of  his  rational  soul  is  natural  to  him  in 
point  of  his  species;  while  that  which  is  natural  to  him  by  his 
haHng  a given  complexion  of  body  is  natural  to  him  according  to 
his  nature  as  an  indiUdual.  Now  in  both  these  ways  a rudi- 
mentary phase  of  virtue  is  natural  to  man.  First,  as  regards  his 
specific  nature,  in  this  way,  that  there  are  by  nature  in  the  reason 

* r Cor.  i.  25. 


SUMMA  THEOLOGIAE 


205 


of  man  certain  naturally  known  principles,  theoretical  and  prac- 
tical, which  are  seminal  principles  of  virtues  intellectual  and 
moral ; and  again  inasmuch  as  there  is  in  the  will  a natural  craving 
after  the  good  that  is  according  to  reason.  Secondly,  as  regards 
his  individual  nature,  inasmuch  as  by  conformation  of  body  some 
are  better  and  some  worse  disposed  to  certain  virtues:  the  ex- 
planation being  this,  that  the  sensitive  powers  are  energies  of 
corresponding  parts  of  the  body;  and  according  to  the  disposition 
of  those  parts  the  said  powers  are  helped  or  hindered  in  their 
operations;  and  consequently  the  rational  powers  also,  which 
these  sensitive  powers  serve,  are  helped  or  hindered  in  like  man- 
ner. Thus  one  man  has  a natural  aptitude  for  knowledge,  an- 
other for  fortitude,  another  for  temperance.  And  in  these  ways 
the  virtues,  as  well  intellectual  as  moral,  are  in  us  by  nature  to  the 
extent  of  a certain  rudimentary  aptitude,  but  not  in  their  perfect 
completeness : the  reason  being  that  nature  is  limited  to  one  fixed 
course  of  action,  whereas  the  perfection  of  the  said  virtues  does 
not  lead  to  one  fixed  course  of  action,  but  is  varied  according  to 
the  diversity  of  matters  wherein  the  virtues  operate,  and  the 
diversity  of  circumstances.  It  appears  then  that  virtues  are  in 
us  by  nature  in  aptitude,  and  in  a rudimentary  phase,  but  not 
in  their  perfection  — except  the  theological  virtues,  which  are 
wholly  from  without. 

Article  II.  — § 2.  Virtue  divinely  infused,  considered  in  its 
perfection,  is  incompatible  with  any  mortal  sin.  But  virtue  hu- 
manly acquired  is  compatible  with  an  act  even  of  mortal  sin,  be- 
cause the  use  of  a habit  in  us  is  subject  to  our  will.  Nor  is  a habit 
of  acquired  virtue  destroyed  by  one  act  of  sin:  for  the  direct  con- 
trary of  a habit  is  not  an  act,  but  another  habit.  And  therefore, 
though  without  grace  a man  cannot  avoid  mortal  sin  so  as  never  to 
sin  mortally,  still  there  is  nothing  to  hinder  him  from  acquiring  a 
habit  of  virtue,  enough  to  keep  him  from  evil  acts  for  the  most  part, 
and  especially  from  those  that  are  very  much  opposed  to  reason. 
There  are,  however,  some  mortal  sins  that  man  can  nowise  avoid 
without  grace,  to  wit,  the  sins  that  are  directly  contrary  to  the 
theological  virtues  which  are  in  us  by  the  gift  of  grace. 


HUGO  GROTIUS 

(1583-1645) 

THE  RIGHTS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE 

Translated  from  the  Latin  * by 
ARCHIBALD  COLIN  CAMPBELL 

BOOK  I.  CHAPTER  I.  WHAT  RIGHT  IS 

III.  As  the  Rights  of  War  is  the  title,  by  which  this  treatise  is 
distinguished,  the  first  inquiry,  as  it  has  already  been  observed, 
is,  whether  any  war  be  just,  and  in  the  next  place,  what  consti- 
tutes the  justice  of  that  war.  For,  in  this  place,  right  signifies 
nothing  more  than  what  is  just,  and  that,  more  in  a negative 
than  a positive  sense;  so  that  right  is  that,  which  is  not  unjust. 
Now  anything  is  unjust,  which  is  repugnant  to  the  nature  of 
society,  established  among  rational  creatures.  Thus  for  instance, 
to  deprive  another  of  what  belongs  to  him,  merely  for  one’s  own 
advantage,  is  repugnant  to  the  law  of  nature,  as  Cicero  observes 
in  the  fifth  chapter  of  his  third  book  of  Offices;  and  by  way  of 
proof  he  says  that,  if  the  practice  were  general,  all  society  and 
intercourse  among  men  must  be  overturned.  Florentinus,  the 
lawyer,  maintains  that  it  is  impious  for  one  man  to  form  designs 
against  another,  as  nature  has  designed  a degree  of  kindred 
amongst  us.  On  this  subject  Seneca^  remarks  that,  as  all  the 
members  of  the  human  body  agree  among  themselves,  because 
the  preservation  of  each  conduces  to  the  welfare  of  the  whole,  so 
men  should  forbear  from  mutual  injuries,  as  they  were  born  for 
society,  which  cannot  subsist  unless  all  the  parts  of  it  are  de- 
fended by  mutual  forbearance  and  good  will.  But  as  there  is  one 
kind  of  social  tie  founded  upon  an  equality,  for  instance,  among 
brothers,  citizens,  friends,  allies,  and  another  on  pre-eminence 

* From  De  Jtire  Belli  ac  Pads,  Paris,  1625.  Reprinted  from  Hugo  Grotius,  The 
Rights  of  War  and  Peace,  including  the  Law  of  Nature  and  of  Nations,  trans- 
lated by  Rev.  A.  C.  Campbell,  Pontefract,  1814. 

‘ De  Ira,  lib.  ii.  cap.  xxi. 


THE  RIGHTS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE  207 

ui  Aristotle  styles  it,  subsisting  between  parents  and  children, 
masters  and  servants,  sovereign  and  subjects,  God  and  men, 
so  justice  takes  place  either  among  equals,  or  between  the  gov- 
erning and  the  governed  parties,  notwithstanding  their  difference 
of  ranks.  The  former  of  these,  if  I am  not  mistaken,  may  be 
called  the  right  of  equality  and  the  latter  the  right  of  superiority. 

IV.  There  is  another  signification  of  the  word  right,  different 
from  this,  but  yet  arising  from  it,  which  relates  directly  to  the 
person.  In  this  sense,  right  is  a moral  quality  annexed  to  the 
person,  justly  entitling  him  to  possess  some  particular  privilege,  or 
to  perform  some  particular  act  The  right  is  annexed  to  the  per- 
son, although  it  sometimes  follows  the  things  as  in  the  services  of 
lands,  which  are  called  real  rights,  in  comparison  with  those  merely 
personal.  Not  because  these  rights  are  not  annexed  to  persons, 
but  the  distinction  is  made,  because  they  belong  to  the  persons 
only  who  possess  some  particular  things.  This  moral  quality, 
when  perfect  is  called  a jaculty  ; when  imperfect,  an  aptitude. 
The  former  answers  to  the  act,  and  the  latter  to  the  power,  when 
we  speak  of  natural  things. 

V.  Civilians  call  a faculty  that  right,  which  every  man  has  to 
his  own;  but  we  shall  hereafter,  taking  it  in  its  strict  and  proper 
sense,  call  it  a right.  This  right  comprehends  the  power,  that 
we  have  over  ourselves,  which  is  called  liberty,  and  the  power, 
that  we  have  over  others,  as  that  of  a father  over  his  children, 
and  of  a master  over  his  slaves.  It  likewise  comprehends  prop- 
erty, which  is  either  complete  or  imperfect;  of  the  latter  kind  is 
the  use  or  possession  of  anything  without  the  property,  or  power 
of  alienating  it,  or  pledges  detained  by  the  creditors  till  payment 
be  made.  There  is  a third  signification,  which  implies  the  p>ower 
of  demanding  what  is  due,  to  which  the  obligation  upon  the  party 
indebted,  to  discharge  what  is  owing,  corresponds. 

VI.  Right  strictly  taken,  is  again  twofold,  the  one,  private  and 
inferior,  established  for  the  advantage  of  each  individual,  the 
other,  eminent  and  superior,  as  involving  the  claims,  which  the 
state  has  upon  individuals,  and  their  property  for  the  public  good. 
Thus  the  regal  authority  is  above  that  of  a father  and  a master, 
and  the  sovereign  has  a greater  right  over  the  property  of  his 


2o8 


HUGO  GROTIUS 


subjects,  where  the  public  good  is  concerned,  than  the  owners 
themselves  have.  And  when  the  exigencies  of  the  state  require  a 
supply  every  man  is  more  obliged  to  contribute  towards  it,  than 
to  satisfy  his  creditors. 

VII.  Aristotle  distinguishes  aptitude  or  capacity  by  the  name 
of  worth  or  merit,  and  Michael  of  Ephesus  gives  the  epithet  of 
suitable  or  becoming  to  the  equality  established  by  this  rule  of 
merit. 

IX.  There  is  also  a third  signihcation  of  the  word  right,  which 
has  the  same  meaning  as  law  taken  in  its  most  extensive  sense,  to 
denote  a rule  of  moral  action,  obliging  us  to  do  what  is  proper. 
We  say  obliging  us.  For  the  best  counsels  or  precepts,  if  they 
lay  us  under  no  obligation  to  obey  them,  cannot  come  under  the 
denomination  of  law  or  right.  Now  as  to  permission,  . it  is  no  act 
of  the  law,  but  only  the  silence  of  the  law,  it  however  prohibits 
any  one  from  impeding  another  in  doing  what  the  law  permits. 
But  we  have  said,  the  law  obliges  us  to  do  what  is  proper,  not 
simply  what  is  just;  because,  under  this  notion,  right  belongs  to 
the  substance  not  only  of  justice,  as  we  have  explained  it,  but  of  all 
other  virtues.  Yet  from  giving  the  name  of  right  to  that,  which 
is  proper,  a more  general  acceptation  of  the  word  justice  has  been 
derived.  The  best  division  of  right,  in  this  general  meaning,  is  to 
be  found  in  Aristotle,  who,  delining  one  kind  to  be  natural,  and 
the  other  voluntary,  calls  it  a lawful  right  in  the  strictest  sense  of 
the  word  law;  and  sometimes  an  instituted  right.  The  same  dif- 
ference is  found  among  the  Hebrews,  who,  by  way  of  distinction, 
in  speaking,  call  that  natural  right,  precepts,  and  the  voluntary 
right,  statutes : the  former  of  which  the  septuagint  call  haKiL^Lara, 
and  the  latter  ivToXas. 

X.  Natural  right  is  the  dictate  of  right  reason,  showing  the 
moral  turpitude  or  moral  necessity  of  any  act  from  its  agreement 
or  disagreement  with  a rational  nature,  and  consequently  that 
such  an  act  is  either  forbidden  or  commanded  by  God,  the  author 
of  nature.  The  actions,  upon  which  such  a dictate  is  given,  are 
either  binding  or  unlawful  in  themselves,  and  therefore  neces- 
sarily understood  to  be  commanded  or  forbidden  by  God.  This 
mark  distinguishes  natural  right,  not  only  from  human  law,  but 


THE  RIGHTS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE  209 

from  the  law,  which  God  himself  has  been  pleased  to  reveal, 
called,  by  some,  the  voluntary  divine  right,  which  does  not  com- 
mand or  forbid  things  in  themselves  either  binding  or  unlawful, 
but  makes  them  unlawful  by  its  prohibition,  and  binding  by  its 
command.  But,  to  understand  natural  right,  we  must  observe 
that  some  things  are  said  to  belong  to  that  right,  not  properly,  but, 
as  the  schoolmen  say,  by  way  of  accommodation.  These  are  not 
repugnant  to  natural  right,  as  we  have  already  observed  that 
those  things  are  called  just,  in  which  there  is  no  injustice.  Some- 
times also,  by  a wrong  use  of  the  word,  those  things  which  reason 
shows  to  be  proper,  or  better  than  things  of  an  opposite  kind,  al- 
though not  binding,  are  said  to  belong  to  natural  right 

We  must  further  remark,  that  natural  right  relates  not  only  to 
those  things  that  exist  independent  of  the  human  will,  but  to 
many  things,  which  necessarily  follow  the  exercise  of  that  will. 
Thus  property,  as  now  in  use,  was  at  first  a creature  of  the  human 
will.  But,  after  it  was  established,  one  man  was  prohibited  by  the 
law  of  nature  from  seizing  the  property  of  another  against  his 
will.  Wherefore,  Paulus  the  lawyer  said,  that  theft  is  expressly 
forbidden  by  the  law  of  nature.  Ulpian  condemns  it  as  impious 
in  its  own  nature ; to  whose  authority  that  of  Euripides  may  be 
added,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  verses  of  Helena ; “For  God  himself 
hates  violence,  and  will  not  have  us  grow  rich  by  rapine,  but  by 
lawful  gains.  That  abundance,  which  is  the  fruits  of  unright- 
eousness, is  an  abomination.  The  air  is  common  to  all  men,  the 
earth  also,  where  every  man,  in  the  ample  enjoyment  of  his  pos- 
session, must  refrain  from  doing  violence  or  injury  to  that  of 
another.  ” ‘ 

Now  the  law  of  nature  is  so  unalterable,  that  it  cannot  be 
changed  even  by  God  himself.  For  although  the  power  of  God 
is  infinite,  yet  there  are  some  things,  to  which  it  does  not  extend. 
Because  the  things  so  expressed  would  have  no  true  meaning, 
but  imply  a contradiction.  Thus  two  and  two  must  make  four, 
nor  is  it  possible  to  be  otherwise ; nor,  again,  can  what  is  intrinsi- 
cally evil  not  be  evil.  And  this  is  Aristotle’s  meaning,  when  he 
says  that  some  things  are  no  sooner  named,  than  we  discover 

^ Helena,  v.  909. 


210 


HUGO  GROTIUS 


their  evil  nature.  For  as  the  substance  of  things  in  their  nature 
and  existence  depends  upon  nothing  but  themselves;  so  there 
are  qualities  inseparably  connected  v^^ith  their  being  and  essence. 
Of  this  kind  is  the  evil  of  certain  actions,  compared  with  the 
nature  of  a reasonable  being.  Therefore  God  himself  suffers 
his  actions  to  be  judged  by  this  rule,  as  may  be  seen  in  Gen. 
xviii.  25;  Isa.  v.  3;  Ezek.  xviii.  25;  Jer.  ii.  9;  Mich.  vi.  2; 
Rom.  ii.  6;  iii.  6. 

XII.  The  existence  of  the  law  of  nature  is  proved  by  two 
kinds  of  argument,  a priori  and  a posteriori,  the  former  a more 
abstruse,  and  the  latter  a more  popular  method  of  proof.  We  are 
said  to  reason  a priori,  when  we  show  the  agreement  or  disagree- 
ment of  anything  with  a reasonable  and  social  nature;  but  a pos- 
teriori, when  without  absolute  proof,  but  only  upon  probability, 
anything  is  inferred  to  accord  with  the  law  of  nature,  because  it  is 
received  as  such  among  all,  or  at  least  among  the  more  civilized 
nations,  for  a general  effect  can  only  arise  from  a general  cause. 
Now  scarce  any  other  cause  can  be  assigned  for  so  general  an 
opinion,  but  the  common  sense,  as  it  is  called,  of  mankind. 
There  is  a passage  in  Hesiod, ‘ which  has  been  much  praised,  that 
opinions  which  have  prevailed  amongst  many  nations,  must  have 
some  foundation.  Heraclitus,  establishing  common  reason  as  the 
best  criterion  of  truth,  says,  ^ those  things  are  certain  which  gen- 
erally appear  so.  Among  other  authorities  we  may  quote  Aris- 
totle® who  says  it  is  a strong  proof  in  our  favour,  when  all  appear 
to  agree  with  what  we  say  and  Cicero^  maintains  that  the  consent 
of  all  nations  in  any  case  is  to  be  admitted  for  the  law  of  nature. 
Seneca®  is  of  the  same  opinion ; anything,  says  he,  appearing  the 
same  to  all  men  is  a proof  of  its  truth.  Quintilian®  says,  we  hold 
those  things  to  be  true,  in  which  all  men  agree.  We  have  called 
them  the  more  civilized  nations,  and  not  without  reason.  For,  as 
Porphyry  well  observes,  ’’  some  nations  are  so  strange  that  no  fair 
judgment  of  human  nature  can  be  formed  from  them,  for  it  would 
be  erroneous.  Andronicus  the  Rhodian  says,®  that  with  men  of 

* Opera  et  Dies,  763.  ^ Sextus  Empiricus,  Adv.  Log.,  lib.  vii.  § 134. 

® Ethic.  Nicom.,  bk.  x.  ^ Tuscul.  Quaest.,  lib.  i.  cap.  xiii. 

® Epist.,  cxvii.  ® Inst.  Orator.,  lib.  v.  cap.  x. 

’ De  abstinentia,  lib.  iv.  ® Paraph,  in  Arist.  Ethic.  Nich.,  lib.  v.  cap.  3:. 


THE  RIGHTS  OF  WAR  AND  PEACE  211 


right  and  sound  understanding,  natural  justice  is  unchangeable. 
Nor  does  it  alter  the  case,  though  men  of  disordered  and  perverted 
minds  think  otherwise.  For  he  who  should  deny  that  honey  is 
sweet,  because  it  appears  not  so  to  men  of  a distempered  taste, 
would  be  wrong.  Plutarch  too  agrees  entirely  with  what  has  been 
said,  as  appears  from  a passage  in  his  life  of  Pompey,^  affirming 
that  man  neither  was,  nor  is,  by  nature  a wild  unsociable  creature. 
But  it  is  the  corruption  of  his  nature  which  makes  him  so ; yet  by 
acquiring  new  habits,  by  changing  his  place,  and  way  of  living, 
he  may  be  reclaimed  to  his  original  gentleness.  Aristode,^  taking 
a description  of  man  from  his  peculiar  qualities,  makes  him  an 
animal  of  a gentle  nature,  and  in  another  part  of  his  works,®  he 
observes,  that  in  considering  the  nature  of  man,  we  are  to  take 
our  likeness  from  nature  in  its  pure,  and  not  in  its  corrupt  state. 

XIII.  It  has  already  been  remarked,  that  there  is  another  kind 
of  right,  which  is  the  voluntary  [positive  or  instituted]  right,  de- 
riving its  origin  from  the  will.  And  this  is  either  human  or  divine. 

XIV.  We  will  begin  with  the  human  as  more  generally  known. 
Now  this  is  either  a civil  right  or  a right  more  or  less  extensive 
than  the  civil  right.  The  civil  right  is  that  which  is  derived  from 
the  civil  power.  The  civil  power  is  the  sovereign  power  of  the 
state.  A state  is  a perfect  body  of  free  men,  united  together  in 
order  to  enjoy  common  rights  and  advantages.  The  less  exten- 
sive right,  and  not  derived  from  the  civil  power  itself,  although 
subject  to  it,  is  various,  comprehending  the  authority  of  parents 
over  children,  masters  over  servants  and  the  like.  But  the  law 
of  nations  is  a more  extensive  right,  deriving  its  authority  from 
the  common  consent  of  all,  or  at  least  of  many  nations. 

It  was  proper  to  add  many,  because  scarce  any  right  can  be 
found  common  to  all  nations,  except  the  law  of  nature,  which 
itself  too  is  generally  called  the  law  of  nations.  Nay,  frequently 
in  one  part  of  the  world,  that  is  held  for  the  law  of  nations  which 
is  not  so  in  another.  Now  this  law  of  nations  is  proved  in  the 
same  manner,  as  the  unwritten  civil  law,  that  is,  by  continued  use 
and  the  testimony  of  men  skilled  in  the  law.  For  this  law,  as 

* Vita  Pompei,  vol.  i.  p.  633.  ^ Topic.,  lib.  v.  cap.  ii. 

^ Polil.,  lib.  i.  cap.  v. 


212 


HUGO  GROTIUS 


Dio  Chrysostom'  well  observes,  is  the  work  of  time  and  custom. 
And  in  this  we  derive  great  advantage  from  the  writings  of 
eminent  historians. 

XV.  The  very  meaning  of  the  words  divine  voluntary  right, 
shows  that  it  springs  from  the  divine  will,  by  which  it  is  distin- 
guished from  natural  law,  which,  it  has  already  been  observed,  is 
called  divine  also.  This  law  admits  of  what  Anaxarchus  said,  as 
Plutarch  relates  in  the  life  of  Alexander,  though  without  suffi- 
cient accuracy,  that  God  does  not  will  a thing  because  it  is  just, 
but  that  it  is  just,  or  binding,  because  God  wills  it.  Now  this  law 
was  given  either  to  mankind  in  general  or  to  one  particular 
people.  We  find  three  periods  at  which  it  was  given  by  God 
to  the  human  race,  the  first  of  which  was  immediately  after  the 
creation  of  man,  the  second  upon  the  restoration  of  man  after 
the  flood,  and  the  third  upon  that  more  glorious  restoration 
through  Jesus  Christ.  These  three  laws  undoubtedly  bind  all 
men  as  soon  as  they  come  to  a sufficient  knowledge  of  them. 

* Orat  Ixxvi.,  De  Constietudine. 


THOMAS  HOBBES 

( 1588-1679) 

LEVIATHAN  * 

OR  THE  MATTER,  FORM,  AND  POWER  OF  A 
COMMONWEALTH,  ECCLESIASTICAL  AND  CIVIL 

Part  I. — OF  MAN 

CHAPTER  FI.  OF  FOLUNTART  MOTIONS;  COM- 
MONLY CALLED  THE  PASSIONS 

There  be  in  animals,  two  sorts  of  motions  peculiar  to  them; 
one  called  vital;  begun  in  generation,  and  continued  without 
interruption  through  their  whole  life;  such  as  are  the  course  of 
the  bloody  the  pulse,  the  breathing,  the  concoction,  nutrition, 
excretion,  &c.,  to  which  motions  there  needs  no  help  of  imagi- 
nation; the  other  is  animal  motion,  otherwise  called  voluntary 
motion;  as  to  go,  to  speak,  to  move  any  of  our  limbs  in  such  man- 
ner as  is  first  fancied  in  our  minds.  That  sense  is  motion  in  the 
organs  and  interior  parts  of  man’s  body,  caused  by  the  action 
of  the  things  we  see,  hear,  &c. ; and  that  fancy  is  but  the  relics 
of  the  same  motion,  remaining  after  sense,  has  been  already 
said  in  the  first  and  second  chapters.  And  because  going,  speak- 
ing, and  the  like  volimtary  motions,  depend  always  upon  a pre- 
cedent thought  of  whither,  which  way,  and  what,  it  is  evident 
that  the  imagination  is  the  first  internal  beginning  of  all  volun- 
tary motion.  And  although  unstudied  men  do  not  conceive  any 
motion  at  all  to  be  there,  where  the  thing  moved  is  invisible;  or 
the  space  it  is  moved  in  is,  for  the  shortness  of  it,  insensible; 
yet  that  doth  not  hinder  but  that  such  motions  are.  For  let  a 
space  be  never  so  little,  that  which  is  moved  over  a greater  space, 
whereof  that  little  one  is  part,  must  first  be  moved  over  that. 
These  small  beginnings  of  motion,  within  the  body  of  man, 

* Leviathan,  first  edition,  London,  1651.  Reprinted  from  Hobbes’  English 
Works,  collected  and  edited  by  Sir  William  Molesworth,  London,  1839,  vol.  iiii. 


214 


THOMAS  HOBBES 


before  they  appear  in  walking,  speaking,  striking,  and  other 
visible  actions,  are  commonly  called  endeavour. 

This  endeavour,  when  it  is  toward  something  which  causes  it, 
is  called  appetite,  or  desire  ; the  latter  being  the  general  name ; 
and  the  other  oftentimes  restrained  to  signify  the  desire  of  food, 
namely  hunger  and  thirst.  And  when  the  endeavour  is  fromward 
something,  it  is  generally  called  aversion.  These  words,  appe- 
tite and  aversion,  we  have  from  the  Latins,  and  they  both  of 
them  signify  the  motions,  one  of  approaching,  the  other  of  retir- 
ing. So  also  do  the  Greek  words  for  the  same,  which  are 
and  acfiopfji^].  For  nature  itself  does  often  press  upon  men  those 
truths,  which  afterwards,  when  they  look  for  somewhat  beyond 
nature,  they  stumble  at.  For  the  Schools  find  in  mere  appetite 
to  go,  or  move,  no  actual  motion  at  all : but  because  some  motion 
they  must  acknowledge,  they  call  it  metaphorical  motion;  which 
is  but  an  absurd  speech ; for  though  words  may  be  called  meta- 
phorical, bodies  and  motions  cannot. 

That  which  men  desire,  they  are  also  said  to  love,  and  to  hate 
those  things  for  which  they  have  aversion.  So  that  desire  and 
love  are  the  same  thing;  save  that  by  desire,  we  always  signify 
the  absence  of  the  object ; by  love,  most  commonly  the  presence 
of  the  same.  So  also  by  aversion,  we  signify  the  absence;  and  by 
hate,  the  presence  of  the  object. 

Of  appetites  and  aversions,  some  are  bom  with  men ; as  ap- 
petite of  food,  appetite  of  excretion,  and  exoneration,  which  may 
also  and  more  properly  be  called  aversions,  from  somewhat  they 
feel  in  their  bodies ; and  some  other  appetites,  not  many.  The 
rest,  which  are  appetites  of  particular  things,  proceed  from  ex- 
perience, and  trial  of  their  effects  upon  themselves  or  other  men. 
For  of  things  we  know  not  at  all,  or  believe  not  to  be,  we  can 
have  no  further  desire  than  to  taste  and  try.  But  aversion  we  have 
for  things,  not  only  which  we  know  have  hurt  us,  but  also  that 
we  do  not  know  whether  they  will  hurt  us,  or  not. 

Those  things  which  we  neither  desire,  nor  hate,  we  are  said 
to  contemn;  contempt  being  nothing  else  but  an  immobility,  or 
contumacy  of  the  heart,  in  resisting  the  action  of  certain  things; 
and  proceeding  from  that  the  heart  is  already  moved  otherwise. 


LEVIATHAN 


215 

by  other  more  potent  objects;  or  from  want  of  experience  of 
them. 

And  because  the  constitution  of  a man’s  body  is  in  continual 
mutation,  it  is  impossible  that  all  the  same  things  should  always 
cause  in  him  the  same  appetites  and  aversions  ; much  less  can  all 
men  consent,  in  the  desire  of  almost  any  one  and  the  same  object. 

But  whatsoever  is  the  object  of  any  man’s  appetite  or  desire, 
that  is  it  which  he  for  his  part  calleth  good:  and  the  object  of 
his  hate  and  aversion,  evil  ; and  of  his  contempt,  vile  and  incon- 
siderable. For  these  words  of  good,  evil,  and  contemptible,  are 
ever  used  with  relation  to  the  person  that  useth  them ; there  being 
nothing  simply  and  absolutely  so;  nor  any  common  rule  of  good 
and  evil,  to  be  taken  from  the  nature  of  the  objects  themselves; 
but  from  the  person  of  the  man,  where  there  is  no  Common- 
wealth ; or,  in  a Commonwealth,  from  the  person  that  represent- 
eth  it;  or  from  an  arbitrator  or  judge,  whom  men  disagreeing 
shall  by  consent  set  up,  and  make  his  sentence  the  rule  thereof. 

The  Latin  tongue  has  two  words,  whose  significations  approach 
to  those  of  good  and  evil;  but  are  not  precisely  the  same;  and 
those  are  pulchrum  and  turpe.  Whereof  the  former  signifies  that, 
which  by  some  apparent  signs  promiseth  good;  and  the  latter, 
that  which  promiseth  evil.  But  in  our  tongue  w^e  have  not  so 
general  names  to  express  them  by.  But  for  pulchrum  we  say  in 
some  things,  fair;  in  others,  beautiful,  or  handsome,  or  gallant, 
or  honourable,  or  comely,  or  amiable;  and  for  turpe,  foul,  de- 
formed, ugly,  base,  nauseous,  and  the  like,  as  the  subject  shall 
require;  all  which  words,  in  their  proper  places,  signify  nothing 
else  but  the  mien  or  countenance,  that  promiseth  good  and  evil. 
So  that  of  good  there  be  three  kinds ; good  in  the  promise,  that  is 
pulchrum;  good  in  effect,  as  the  end  desired,  which  is  called 
jucundum,  delightful;  and  good  as  the  means,  which  is  called 
utile,  profitable;  and  as  many  of  evil : for  evil  in  promise,  is  that 
they  call  turpe;  evil  in  effect,  and  end,  is  molestum,  unpleasant, 
troublesome;  and  evil  in  the  means,  inutile,  unprofitable,  hurtful. 

As,  in  sense,  that  which  is  really  within  us,  is,  as  I have  said 
before,  only  motion,  caused  by  the  action  of  external  objects,  but 
in  apparence;  to  the  sight,  light  and  colour;  to  the  ear,  sound; 


2i6 


THOMAS  HOBBES 


to  the  nostril,  odour,  etc. : so,  when  the  action  of  the  same  object 
is  continued  from  the  eyes,  ears,  and  other  organs  to  the  heart, 
the  real  effect  there  is  nothing  but  motion,  or  endeavour;  which 
consisteth  in  appetite,  or  aversion,  to  or  from  the  object  moving. 
But  the  apparence,  or  sense  of  that  motion,  is  that  we  either  call 
delight  or  trouble  of  mind. 

This  motion,  which  is  called  appetite,  and  for  the  apparence 
of  it  delight  and  pleasure,  seemeth  to  be  a corroboration  of  vital 
motion,  and  a help  thereunto;  and  therefore  such  things  as 
caused  delight  were  not  improperly  called  jucunda,  a juvando, 
from  helping  or  fortifying;  and  the  contrary  molesta,  offensive, 
from  hindering,  and  troubling  the  motion  vital. 

Pleasure,  therefore,  or  delight  is  the  apparence,  or  sense  of 
good;  and  molestation  or  displeasure,  the  apparence  or  sense  of 
evil.  And  consequently  all  appetite,  desire,  and  love,  is  accom- 
panied with  some  delight  more  or  less;  and  all  hatred  and  aver- 
sion, with  more  or  less  displeasure  and  offence. 

Of  pleasure  or  delights,  some  arise  from  the  sense  of  an 
object  present;  and  those  may  be  called  pleasures  of  sense-, 
the  word  sensual,  as  it  is  used  by  those  only  that  condemn 
them,  having  no  place  till  there  be  laws.  Of  this  kind  are  all 
onerations  and  exonerations  of  the  body;  as  also  all  that  is 
pleasant,  in  the  sight,  hearing,  smell,  taste,  or  touch.  Others 
arise  from  the  expectation,  that  proceeds  from  foresight  of  the 
end,  or  consequence  of  things;  whether  those  things  in  the 
sense  please  or  displease.  And  these  are  pleasures  of  the  mind 
of  him  that  draweth  those  consequences,  and  are  generally  called 
JOY.  In  the  like  manner,  displeasures  are  some  in  the  sense, 
and  called  pain;  others  in  the  expectation  of  consequences, 
and  are  called  griep. 

These  simple  passions  called  appetite,  desire,  love,  aversion, 
hate,  joy,  and  grief  have  their  names  for  divers  considerations 
diversified.  As  first,  when  they  one  succeed  another,  they  are 
diversly  called  from  the  opinion  men  have  of  the  likelihood 
of  attaining  what  they  desire.  Secondly,  from  the  object  loved 
or  hated.  Thirdly,  from  the  consideration  of  many  of  them 
together.  Fourthly,  from  the  alteration  or  succession  itself. 


LEVIATHAN 


217 


CHAPTER  XIII.  OF  THE  NATURAL  CONDITION 
OF  MANKIND 

Nature  hath  made  men  so  equal,  in  the  faculties  of  the  body, 
and  mind;  as  that  though  there  be  found  one  man  sometimes 
manifestly  stronger  in  body,  or  of  quicker  mind  than  another, 
yet  when  all  is  reckoned  together,  the  difference  between  man 
and  man,  is  not  so  considerable,  as  that  one  man  can  thereupon 
claim  to  himself  any  benefit  to  which  another  may  not  pretend, 
as  well  as  he.  For  as  to  the  strength  of  body,  the  weakest  has 
'strength  enough  to  kill  the  strongest,  either  by  secret  machina- 
tion, or  by  confederacy  with  others,  that  are  in  the  same  danger 
with  himself. 

And  as  to  the  faculties  of  the  mind,  setting  aside  the  arts 
grounded  upon  words,  and  especially  that  skill  of  proceeding 
upon  general  and  infallible  rules,  called  science ; which  very  few 
have,  and  but  in  few  things;  as  being  not  a native  faculty  born 
with  us ; nor  attained,  as  prudence,  while  we  look  after  somewhat 
else,  I find  yet  a greater  equality  amongst  men  than  that  of 
strength.  For  prudence,  is  but  experience;  which  equal  time, 
equally  bestows  on  all  men,  in  those  things  they  equally  apply 
themselves  unto.  That  which  may  perhaps  make  such  equality 
incredible,  is  but  a vain  conceit  of  one’s  own  wisdom,  which 
almost  all  men  think  they  have  in  a greater  degree  than  the  vul- 
gar; that  is,  than  all  men  but  themselves,  and  a few  others,  whom 
by  fame,  or  for  concurring  with  themselves,  they  approve.  For 
such  is  the  nature  of  men,  that  howsoever  they  may  acknowledge 
many  others  to  be  more  witty,  or  more  eloquent,  or  more  learned ; 
yet  they  will  hardly  believe  there  be  many  so  wise  as  themselves ; 
for  they  see  their  own  wit  at  hand,  and  other  men’s  at  a distance. 
But  this  proveth  rather  that  men  are  in  that  point  equal,  than 
unequal.  For  there  is  not  ordinarily  a greater  sign  of  the  equal 
distribution  of  anything,  than  that  every  man  is  contented  with 
his  share. 

From  this  equality  of  ability,  ariseth  equality  of  hope  in  the 
attaining  of  our  ends.  And  therefore  if  any  two  men  desire  the 


2i8 


THOMAS  HOBBES 


same  thing,  which  nevertheless  they  cannot  both  enjoy,  they 
become  enemies ; and  in  the  way  to  their  end,  which  is  principally 
their  own  conservation,  and  sometimes  their  delectation  only, 
endeavour  to  destroy  or  subdue  one  another.  And  from  hence 
it  comes  to  pass,  that  where  an  invader  hath  no  more  to  fear, 
than  another  man’s  single  power;  if  one  plant,  sow,  build,  or 
possess  a convenient  seat,  others  may  probably  be  expected  to 
come  prepared  with  forces  united,  to  dispossess,  and  deprive  him, 
not  only  of  the  fruit  of  his  labour,  but  also  of  his  life  or  liberty. 
And  the  invader  again  is  in  the  like  danger  of  another. 

And  from  this  diffidence  of  one  another,  there  is  no  way  for 
any  man  to  secure  himself,  so  reasonable  as  anticipation ; that  is, 
by  force,  or  wiles,  to  master  the  persons  of  all  men  he  can,  so 
long,  till  he  see  no  other  power  great  enough  to  endanger  him : 
and  this  is  no  more  than  his  own  conservation  requireth,  and 
is  generally  allowed.  Also  because  there  be  some,  that  taking 
pleasure  in  contemplating  their  own  power  in  the  acts  of  conquest, 
which  they  pursue  farther  than  their  security  requires;  if  others, 
that  otherwise  would  be  glad  to  be  at  ease  within  modest 
bounds,  should  not  by  invasion  increase  their  power,  they  would 
not  be  able,  long  time,  by  standing  only  on  their  defence,  to 
subsist.  And  by  consequence,  such  augmentation  of  dominion 
over  men  being  necessary  to  a man’s  conservation,  it  ought  to  be 
allowed  him. 

Again,  men  have  no  pleasure,  but  on  the  contrary  a great  deal 
of  grief,  in  keeping  company,  where  there  is  no  power  able  to 
overawe  them  all.  For  every  man  looketh  that  his  companion 
should  value  him,  at  the  same  rate  he  sets  upon  himself : and 
upon  all  signs  of  contempt,  or  undervaluing,  naturally  endeavours 
as  far  as  he  dares  (which  amongst  them  that  have  no  common 
power  to  keep  them  in  quiet,  is  far  enough  to  make  them  destroy 
each  other),  to  extort  a greater  value  from  his  contemners,  by 
damage;  and  from  others,  by  the  example. 

So  that  in  the  nature  of  man,  we  find  three  principal  causes  of 
quarrel.  First,  competition;  secondly,  diffidence;  thirdly,  glory. 

The  first  maketh  men  invade  for  gain;  the  second,  for  safety; 
and  the  third,  for  reputation.  The  first  use  violence,  to  make 


LE  VIA!  HAN 


219 


themselves  masters  of  other  men’s  persons,  wives,  children,  and 
cattle;  the  second,  to  defend  them;  the  third,  for  trifles,  as  a 
word,  a smile,  a difi'erent  opinion,  and  any  sign  of  undervalue, 
either  direct  in  their  persons,  or  by  reflection  in  their  kindred, 
their  friends,  their  nation,  their  profession,  or  their  name. 

Hereby  it  is  manifest,  that  during  the  time  men  live  without  a 
common  power  to  keep  them  all  in  awe,  they  are  in  that  condition 
which  is  called  war ; and  such  a war,  as  is  of  every  man,  against 
every  man.  For  war,  consisteth  not  in  battle  only,  or  the  act  of 
fighting;  but  in  a tract  of  time,  wherein  the  will  to  contend  by 
battle  is  sufficiently  kno\\Ti : and  therefore  the  notion  of  time,  is 
to  be  considered  in  the  nature  of  war,  as  it  is  in  the  nature  of 
weather.  For  as  the  nature  of  foul  weather,  lieth  not  in  a shower 
or  two  of  rain,  but  in  an  inclination  thereto  of  many  days  together ; 
so  the  nature  of  war,  consisteth  not  in  actual  fighting,  but  in  the 
known  disposition  thereto,  during  all  the  time  there  is  no  assur- 
ance to  the  contrary.  All  other  time  is  peace. 

Whatsoever  therefore  is  consequent  to  a time  of  war,  where 
every  man  is  enemy  to  every  man,  the  same  is  consequent  to  the 
time  wherein  men  live  without  other  security,  than  what  their 
ovTi  strength,  and  their  own  invention  shall  furnish  them  withal. 
In  such  condition,  there  is  no  place  for  industry,  because  the 
fruit  thereof  is  uncertain,  and  consequently  no  culture  of  the 
earth;  no  navigation,  nor  use  of  the  commodities  that  may  be 
imported  by  sea;  no  commodious  building;  no  instruments  of 
moving,  and  removing,  such  things  as  require  much  force;  no 
knowledge  of  the  face  of  the  earth ; no  account  of  time ; no  arts ; 
no  letters;  no  society;  and,  which  is  worst  of  all,  continual  fear, 
and  danger  of  violent  death ; and  the  life  of  man,  solitary,  poor, 
nasty,  brutish,  and  short. 

It  may  seem  strange  to  some  man,  that  has  not  well  weighed 
these  things,  that  Nature  should  thus  dissociate,  and  render  men 
apt  to  invade  and  destroy  one  another ; and  he  may  therefore,  not 
trusting  to  this  inference  made  from  the  passions,  desire  perhaps 
to  have  the  same  confirmed  by  experience.  Let  him  therefore 
consider  with  himself,  when  taking  a journey,  he  arms  himself, 
and  seeks  to  go  well  accompanied ; when  going  to  sleep  he  locks 


220 


THOMAS  HOBBES 


his  doors ; when  even  in  his  house,  he  locks  his  chest ; and  this 
when  he  knows  there  be  laws,  and  public  officers,  armed,  to 
revenge  all  injuries  shall  be  done  him;  what  opinion  he  has  of 
his  fellow-subjects,  when  he  rides  armed;  of  his  fellow-citizens, 
when  he  locks  his  doors ; and  of  his  children  and  servants,  when 
he  locks  his  chests.  Does  he  not  there  as  much  accuse  mankind 
by  his  actions,  as  I do  by  my  words  ? But  neither  of  us  accuse 
man’s  nature  in  it.  The  desires,  and  other  passions  of  man,  are 
in  themselves  no  sin.  No  more  are  the  actions,  that  proceed  from 
those  passions,  till  they  know  a law  that  forbids  them : which  till 
lavs  be  made  they  cannot  know,  nor  can  any  law  be  made,  till 
they  have  agreed  upon  the  person  that  shall  make  it. 

It  may  peradventure  be  thought,  there  was  never  such  a time 
nor  condition  of  war  as  this ; and  I believe  it  was  never  generally 
so,  over  all  the  world ; but  there  are  many  places  where  they  live 
so  now.  For  the  savage  people  in  many  places  of  America,  except 
the  government  of  small  families,  the  concord  whereof  dependeth 
on  natural  lust,  have  no  government  at  all,  and  live  at  this  day 
in  that  brutish  manner,  as  I said  before.  Howsoever,  it  may  be 
perceived  what  manner  of  life  there  would  be,  where  there  were 
no  common  power  to  fear,  by  the  manner  of  life,  which  men  that 
have  formerly  lived  under  a peaceful  government,  use  to  degen- 
erate into,  in  a civil  war. 

But  though  there  had  never  been  any  time,  wherein  particular 
men  were  in  a condition  of  war  one  against  another ; yet  in  all 
times,  kings,  and  persons  of  sovereign  authority,  because  of  their 
independency,  are  in  continual  jealousies,  and  in  the  state  and 
posture  of  gladiators ; having  their  weapons  pointing,  and  their 
eyes  fixed  on  one  another;  that  is,  their  forts,  garrisons,  and  guns 
upon  the  frontiers  of  their  kingdoms;  and  continual  spies  upon 
their  neighbours;  which  is  a posture  of  war.  But  because  they 
uphold  thereby  the  industry  of  their  subjects;  there  does  not 
follow  from  it  that  misery,  which  accompanies  the  liberty  of 
particular  men. 

To  this  war  of  every  man,  against  every  man,  this  also  is  con- 
sequent; that  nothing  can  be  unjust.  The  notions  of  right  and 
WTong,  justice  and  injustice,  have  there  no  place.  Where  there  is 


LEVIATHAN 


221 


no  common  power,  there  is  no  law : where  no  law,  no  injustice. 
Force,  and  fraud,  are  in  war  the  two  cardinal  virtues.  Justice, 
and  injustice  are  none  of  the  faculties  neither  of  the  body  nor 
mind.  If  they  were,  they  might  be  in  a man  that  were  alone 
in  the  world,  as  well  as  his  senses,  and  passions.  They  are  quali- 
ties, that  relate  to  men  in  society,  not  in  solitude.  It  is  consequent 
also  to  the  same  condition,  that  there  be  no  propriety,  no  domin- 
ion, no  mine  and  thine  distinct ; but  only  that  to  be  every  man’s, 
that  he  can  get ; and  for  so  long,  as  he  can  keep  it.  And  thus  much 
for  the  ill  condition,  which  man  by  mere  nature  is  actually  placed 
in ; though  with  a possibility  to  come  out  of  it,  consisting  partly 
In  the  passions,  partly  in  his  reason. 

The  passions  that  incline  men  to  peace,  are  fear  of  death; 
desire  of  such  things  as  are  necessary  to  commodious  living ; and 
a hope  by  their  industry  to  obtain  them.  And  reason  suggesteth 
convenient  articles  of  peace,  upon  which  men  may  be  drawn  to 
agreement.  These  articles,  are  they,  which  otherwise  are  called 
the  Laws  of  Nature:  whereof  I shall  speak  more  particularly, 
in  the  two  following  chapters. 


CHAPTER  XIV.  OF  THE  FIRST  AND  SECOND 
NATURAL  LAWS 

The  RIGHT  OF  NATURE,  which  writers  commonly  call  ]us  natu- 
rale,  is  the  liberty  each  man  hath,  to  use  his  ovti  power,  as  he 
will  himself,  for  the  preservation  of  his  own  nature;  that  is  to 
say,  of  his  own  life ; and  consequently,  of  doing  anything  which 
in  his  own  judgment  and  reason  he  shall  conceive  to  be  the  aptest 
means  thereunto. 

By  LIBERTY,  is  understood,  according  to  the  proper  significa- 
tion of  the  word,  the  absence  of  external  impediments:  which 
impediments,  may  take  away  part  of  a man’s  power  to  do  what 
he  would;  but  cannot  hinder  him  from  using  the  power  left 
him,  according  as  his  judgment  and  reason  shall  dictate  to  him, 

A LAW  OF  NATURE,  lex  naturalis,  is  a precept  or  general  rule, 
found  out  by  reason,  by  which  a man  is  forbidden  to  do  that, 


222 


THOMAS  HOBBES 


which  is  destructive  of  his  life,  or  taketh  away  the  means  of  pre- 
serving the  same;  and  to  omit  that,  by  which  he  thinketh  it  may 
be  best  preserved.  For  though  they  that  speak  of  this  subiect 
use  to  confound  jus  and  lex,  right  and  law:  yet  they  ought  to  be 
distinguished;  because  right  consisteth  in  liberty  to  do,  or  to 
forbear;  whereas  law,  determineth,  and  bindeth  to  one  of  them : 
so  that  law',  and  right,  differ  as  much  as  obligation,  and  liberty; 
which  in  one  and  the  same  matter  are  inconsistent. 

And  because  the  condition  of  man,  as  hath  been  declared  in 
the  precedent  chapter,  is  a condition  of  war  of  every  one  against 
every  one ; in  which  case  every  one  is  governed  by  his  own  reason ; 
and  there  is  nothing  he  can  make  use  of,  that  may  not  be  a help 
unto  him  in  preserving  his  life  against  his  enemies;  it  followeth, 
that  in  such  a condition,  every  man  has  a right  to  everything; 
even  to  one  another’s  body.  And  therefore,  as  long  as  this  natural 
right  of  every  man  to  everything  endureth,  there  can  be  no  secur- 
ity to  any  man,  how  strong  or  wise  soever  he  be,  of  living  out  the 
time  which  Nature  ordinarily  alloweth  men  to  live.  And  con- 
sequently it  is  a precept,  or  general  rule  of  reason,  that  every  man 
ought  to  endeavour  peace,  as  far  as  he  has  hope  of  obtaining  it; 
and  when  he  cannot  obtain  it,  that  he  may  seek,  and  use,  all  helps 
and  advantages  of  war.  The  first  branch  of  which  rule  containeth 
the  first,  and  fundamental  law  of  Nature;  which  is  to  seek  peace,^ 
and  follow  it.  The  second,  the  sum  of  the  right  of  Nature : which 
is,  by  all  means  we  can,  to  defend  ourselves. 

From  this  fundamental  law  of  Nature,  by  which  men  are  com- 
manded to  endeavour  peace,  is  derived  this  second  law ; that  a 
man  be  willing,  when  others  are  so  too,  as  far-forth,  as  for  peace, 
and  defence  of  himself  he  shall  think  it  necessary  to  lay  down  this 
right  to  all  things;  and  be  contented  with  so  much  liberty  against 
other  men  as  he  would  allow  other  men  against  himself.  For  as 
long  as  every  man  holdeth  this  right  of  doing  anything  he  liketh ; 
so  long  are  all  men  in  the  condition  of  w'ar.  But  if  other  men  will 
not  lay  down  their  right  as  well  as  he;  then  there  is  no  reason 
for  any  one  to  divest  himself  of  his : for  that  were  to  expose  him- 
self to  ] rey,  which  no  man  is  bound  to,  rather  than  to  dispose 
himself  \o  peace.  This  is  that  law  of  the  Gospel;  whatsoever 


LEVIATHAN 


223 

you  require  that  others  should  do  to  you,  that  do  ye  to  them.  And 
that  law  of  all  men,  quod  tihi  fieri  non  vis,  alteri  ne  feceris. 


CHAPTER  XV.  OF  OTHER  LAWS  OF  NATURE 

From  that  law  of  Nature,  by  which  we  are  obliged  to  transfer 
to  another,  such  rights,  as  being  retained,  hinder  the  peace  of 
mankind,  there  followeth  a third ; which  is  this,  that  men  perform 
their  covenants  made:  without  which,  covenants  are  in  vain,  and 
but  empty  words ; and  the  right  of  all  men  to  all  things  remaining, 
we  are  still  in  the  condition  of  war. 

And  in  this  law  of  Nature,  consisteth  the  fountain  and  original 
of  JUSTICE.  For  where  no  covenant  hath  preceded,  there  hath  no 
right  been  transferred,  and  every  man  has  right  to  everything ; 
and  consequently,  no  action  can  be  unjust.  But  when  a cove- 
nant is  made,  then  to  break  it  is  unjust:  and  the  definition  of  in- 
justice, is  no  other  than  the  not  performance  of  covenant.  And 
whatsoever  is  not  unjust,  is  just. 

But  because  covenants  of  mutual  trust,  where  there  is  a fear 
of  not  performance  on  either  part,  as  hath  been  said  in  the  former 
chapter,  are  invalid;  though  the  original  of  justice  be  the  making 
of  covenants;  yet  injustice  actually  there  can  be  none,  till  the 
cause  of  such  fear  be  taken  away ; which  while  men  are  in  the 
natural  condition  of  war,  cannot  be  done.  Therefore  before  the 
names  of  just,  and  unjust  can  have  place,  there  must  be  some 
coercive  power,  to  compel  men  equally  to  the  performance  of 
their  covenants,  by  the  terror  of  some  punishment,  greater  than 
the  benefit  they  expect  by  the  breach  of  their  covenant ; and  to 
make  good  that  propriety,  which  by  mutual  contract  men  acquire, 
in  recompense  of  the  universal  right  they  abandon:  and  such 
power  there  is  none  before  the  erection  of  a commonwealth. 
And  this  is  also  to  be  gathered  out  of  the  ordinary  definition  of 
justice  in  the  Schools ; for  they  say,  that  justice  is  the  constant 
will  of  giving  to  every  man  his  own.  And  therefore  where  there 
is  no  own,  that  is  no  propriety,  there  is  no  injustice;  and  where 
there  is  no  coercive  power  erected,  that  is,  where  there  is  no 


224 


THOMAS  HOBBES 


Commonwealth,  there  is  no  propriety ; all  men  having  right  to  all 
things : therefore  where  there  is  no  Commonwealth,  there  nothing 
is  unjust.  So  that  the  nature  of  justice,  consisteth  in  keeping  of 
valid  covenants:  but  the  validity  of  covenants  begins  not  but 
with  the  constitution  of  a civil  power,  sufficient  to  compel  men 
to  keep  them;  and  then  it  is  also  that  propriety  begins. 

As  justice  dependeth  on  antecedent  covenant;  so  does  grati- 
tude depend  on  antecedent  grace;  that  is  to  say,  antecedent 
free  gift : and  is  the  fourth  law  of  Nature ; which  may  be  conceived 
in  this  form,  that  a man  which  receiveth  benefit  from  another  of 
mere  grace,  endeavour  that  he  which  giveth  it,  have  no  reasonable 
cause  to  repent  him  of  his  good  will.  For  no  man  giveth,  but 
with  intention  of  good  to  himself;  because  gift  is  voluntary 
and  of  all  voluntary  acts,  the  object  is  to  every  man  his  own  good ; 
of  which  if  men  see  they  shall  be  frustrated,  there  will  be  no 
beginning  of  benevolence,  or  trust,  nor  consequently  of  mutual 
help;  nor  of  reconciliation  of  one  man  to  another;  and  therefore 
they  are  to  remain  still  in  the  condition  of  war;  which  is  contrary 
to  the  first  and  fundamental  law  of  Nature,  which  commandeth 
men  to  seek  peace.  The  breach  of  this  law  is  called  ingratitude; 
and  hath  the  same  relation  to  grace,  that  injustice  hath  to  obliga- 
tion by  covenant. 

A fifth  law  of  Nature  is  complaisance;  that  is  to  say,  that 
every  man  strive  to  accommodate  himself  to  the  rest.  For  the  under- 
standing whereof,  we  may  consider,  that  there  is  in  men’s  aptness 
to  society,  a diversity  of  nature,  rising  from  their  diversity  of 
affections;  not  unlike  to  that  we  see  in  stones  brought  together 
for  building  of  an  edifice.  ...  For  seeing  every  man,  not  only  by 
right,  but  also  by  necessity  of  nature,  is  supposed  to  endeavour 
all  he  can,  to  obtain  that  which  is  necessary  for  his  conservation ; 
he  that  shall  oppose  himself  against  it,  for  things  superfluous,  is 
guilty  of  the  war  that  thereupon  is  to  follow;  and  therefore 
doth  that,  which  is  contrary  to  the  fundamental  law  of  Nature, 
which  commandeth  to  seek  peace.  The  observers  of  this  law, 
may  be  called  sociable,  the  Latins  call  them  commodi;  the  con- 
trary, stubborn,  insociable,  froward,  intractable. 


LEVIATHAN 


225 


A sixth  law  of  Nature  is  this,  that  upon  caution  of  the  future 
time,  a man  ought  to  pardon  the  offences  past  of  them  that  repent- 
ing, desire  it.  For  pardon,  is  nothing  but  granting  of  peace; 
which  though  granted  to  them  that  persevere  in  their  hostility, 
be  not  peace,  but  fear;  yet  not  granted  to  them  that  give  caution 
of  the  future  time,  is  sign  of  an  aversion  to  peace;  and  therefore 
contrary  to  the  law  of  Nature. 

A seventh  is,  that  in  revenges,  that  is,  retribution  of  evil  for 
evil,  men  look  not  at  the  greatness  of  the  evil  past,  but  the  greatness 
of  the  good  to  follow.  Whereby  we  are  forbidden  to  inflict  punish- 
ment with  any  other  design,  than  for  correction  of  the  offender, 
or  direction  of  others.  For  this  law  is  consequent  to  the  next 
before  it,  that  commandeth  pardon,  upon  security  of  the  future 
time.  Besides,  revenge,  without  respect  to  the  example,  and 
profit  to  come,  is  a triumph  or  glorying  in  the  hurt  of  another, 
tending  to  no  end;  for  the  end  is  always  somewhat  to  come; 
and  glorying  to  no  end,  is  vain-glory,  and  contrary  to  reason, 
and  to  hurt  without  reason,  tendeth  to  the  introduction  of  war 
which  is  against  the  law  of  Nature;  and  is  commonly  styled  by 
the  name  of  cruelty. 

And  because  all  signs  of  hatred,  or  contempt,  provoke  to  fight; 
insomuch  as  most  men  choose  rather  to  hazard  their  life,  than 
not  to  be  revenged;  we  may  in  the  eighth  place,  for  a law  of 
nature,  set  down  this  precept,  that  no  man  by  deed,  word,  coun- 
tenance, or  gesture,  declare  hatred,  or  contempt  of  another.  The 
breach  of  which  law  is  commonly  called  contumely. 

The  question  who  is  the  better  man,  has  no  place  in  the  con- 
dition of  mere  nature;  where,  as  has  been  shown  before,  all  men 
are  equal.  The  inequality  that  now  is,  has  been  introduced 
by  the  laws  civil.  I know  that  Aristotle  in  the  first  book  of  his 
Politics,  for  a foundation  of  his  doctrine,  maketh  men  by  nature, 
some  more  worthy  to  command,  meaning  the  wiser  sort,  such 
as  he  thought  himself  to  be  for  his  philosophy ; others  to  serve, 
meaning  those  that  had  strong  bodies,  but  were  not  philosophers 
as  he;  as  if  master  and  servant  were  not  introduced  by  consent 
of  men,  but  by  difference  of  wit ; which  is  not  only  against  reason, 
but  also  against  experience.  For  there  are  very  few  so  foolish. 


226 


THOMAS  HOBBES 


that  had  not  rather  govern  themselves,  than  be  governed  by  others : 
nor  when  the  wise  in  their  own  conceit,  contend  by  force,  with 
them  who  distrust  their  own  wisdom,  do  they  always,  or  often,  or 
almost  at  any  time,  get  the  victory.  If  Nature  therefore  have 
made  them  equal,  that  equality  is  to  be  acknowledged:  or  if 
nature  have  made  men  unequal;  yet  because  men  that  think 
themselves  equal,  will  not  enter  into  conditions  of  peace,  but 
upon  equal  terms,  such  equality  must  be  admitted.  And  there- 
fore for  the  ninth  law  of  Nature,  I put  this,  that  every  man  ac- 
knowledge another  for  his  equal  by  nature.  The  breach  of  this 
precept  is  pride. 

On  this  law  dependeth  another,  that  at  the  entrance  into  con- 
ditions of  peace,  no  man  require  to  reserve  to  himself  any  right, 
which  he  is  not  content  should  be  reserved  to  every  one  of  the  rest. 
As  it  is  necessary  for  all  men  that  seek  peace,  to  lay  down  certain 
rights  of  nature;  that  is  to  say,  not  to  have  liberty  to  do  all  they 
list ; so  is  it  necessary  for  man’s  life,  to  retain  some,  as  right  to 
govern  their  own  bodies;  enjoy  air,  water,  motion,  ways  to  go 
from  place  to  place;  and  all  things  else,  without  which  a man 
cannot  live,  or  not  live  well.  If  in  this  case,  at  the  making  of 
peace,  men  require  for  themselves  that  which  they  would  not 
have  to  be  granted  to  others,  they  do  contrary  to  the  precedent 
law,  that  commandeth  the  acknowledgment  of  natural  equality, 
and  therefore  also  against  the  law  of  Nature.  The  observers  of 
this  law  are  those  we  call  modest,  and  the  breakers  arrogant  men. 
The  Greeks  call  the  violation  of  this  law  TrXeoveila,  that  is,  a desire 
of  more  than  their  share. 


These  are  the  laws  of  Nature,  dictating  peace,  for  a means  of 
the  conservation  of  men  in  multitudes;  and  which  only  concern 
the  doctrine  of  civil  society.  There  be  other  things  tending  to 
the  destruction  of  particular  men;  as  drunkenness,  and  all  other 
parts  of  intemperance;  which  may  therefore  also  be  reckoned 
amongst  those  things  which  the  law  of  Nature  hath  forbidden : 
but  are  not  necessary  nor  pertinent  enough  here  to  be  men- 
tioned. 

And  though  this  may  seem  too  subtle  a deduction  of  the  laws 


LEVIATHAN 


227 


of  Nature  to  be  taken  notice  of  by  all  men ; whereof  the  most  part 
are  too  busy  in  getting  food,  and  the  rest  too  negligent  to  under- 
stand; yet  to  leave  all  men  inexcusable,  they  have  been  con- 
tracted into  one  easy  sum,  intelligible  even  to  the  meanest  capa- 
city; and  that  is,  Do  not  that  to  another,  which  thou  wouldst  not 
have  done  to  thyself;  which  sheweth  him,  that  he  has  no  more 
to  do  in  learning  the  laws  of  nature,  but,  when  weighing  the  ac- 
tions of  other  men  with  his  own,  they  seem  too  heavy,  to  put  them 
into  the  other  part  of  the  balance,  and  his  own  into  their  place, 
that  his  own  passions,  and  self-love,  may  add  nothing  to  the 
weight;  and  then  there  is  none  of  these  laws  of  Nature  that  will 
not  appear  unto  him  very  reasonable. 

The  laws  of  Nature  oblige  in  foro  interno;  that  is  to  say,  they 
bind  to  a desire  they  should  take  place ; but  in  foro  externo;  that 
is,  to  the  putting  them  in  act,  not  always.  For  he  that  should  be 
modest,  and  tractable,  and  perform  all  he  promises,  in  such  time 
and  place  where  no  man  else  should  do  so,  should  but  make 
himself  a prey  to  others,  and  procure  his  own  certain  ruin,  con- 
trary to  the  ground  of  all  laws  of  Nature,  which  tend  to  nature’s 
preservation.  And  again,  he  that  having  sufficient  security,  that 
others  shall  observe  the  same  laws  towards  him,  observes  them 
not  himself,  seeketh  not  peace,  but  war;  and  consequently  the 
destruction  of  his  nature  by  violence. 

And  whatsoever  laws  bind  in  foro  interno,  may  be  broken,  not 
only  by  a fact  contrary  to  the  law,  but  also  by  a fact  according 
to  it,  in  case  a man  think  it  contrary.  For  though  his  action  in 
this  case  be  according  to  the  law,  yet  his  purpose  was  against  the 
law;  which,  where  the  obligation  is  in  foro  interno,  is  a breach. 

The  laws  of  Nature  are  immutable  and  eternal;  for  injustice, 
ingratitude,  arrogance,  pride,  iniquity,  acception  of  persons, 
and  the  rest,  can  never  be  made  lawful.  For  it  can  never  be  that 
war  shall  preserve  life,  and  peace  destroy  it. 

The  same  laws,  because  they  oblige  only  to  a desire  and  en- 
deavour, I mean  an  unfeigned  and  constant  endeavour,  are  easy 
to  be  observed.  For  in  that  they  require  nothing  but  endeavour, 
he  that  endeavoureth  their  performance,  fulfilleth  them ; and  he 
that  fulfilleth  the  law,  is  just. 


228 


THOMAS  HOBBES 


And  the  science  of  them  is  the  true  and  only  moral  philosophy. 
For  moral  philosophy  is  nothing  else  but  the  science  of  what  is 
good,  and  evil,  in  the  conversation  and  society  of  mankind.  Good, 
and  evil,  are  names  that  signify  our  appetites,  and  aversions; 
which  in  different  tempers,  customs,  and  doctrines  of  men,  are 
different : and  divers  men,  differ  not  only  in  their  judgment,  on 
the  senses  of  what  is  pleasant,  and  unpleasant  to  the  taste,  smell, 
hearing,  touch,  and  sight;  but  also  of  what  is  conformable  or 
disagreeable  to  reason,  in  the  actions  of  common  life.  Nay,  the 
same  man,  in  divers  times,  differs  from  himself;  and  one  time 
praiseth,  that  is,  calleth  good,  what  another  time  he  dispraiseth, 
and  calleth  evil : from  whence  arise  disputes,  controversies,  and 
at  last  war.  And  therefore  so  long  as  a man  is  in  the  condition 
of  mere  nature,  which  is  a condition  of  war,  as  private  appetite 
is  the  measure  of  good  and  evil : and  consequently  all  men  agree 
on  this,  that  peace  is  good,  and  therefore  also  the  way  or  means 
of  peace,  which,  as  I have  shewed  before,  are  justice,  gratitude, 
modesty,  equity,  mercy,  and  the  rest  of  the  laws  of  Nature,  are 
good;  that  is  to  say,  moral  virtues;  and  their  contrary  vices,  evil. 
Now  the  science  of  virtue  and  vice,  is  moral  philosophy;  and 
therefore  the  true  doctrine  of  the  laws  of  Nature  is  the  true  moral 
philosophy.  But  the  writers  of  moral  philosophy,  though  they 
acknowledge  the  same  virtues  and  vices;  yet  not  seeing  wherein 
consisted  their  goodness;  nor  that  they  come  to  be  praised,  as 
the  means  of  peaceable,  sociable,  and  comfortable  living,  place 
them  in  a mediocrity  of  passions:  as  if  not  the  cause,  but  the 
degree  of  daring,  made  fortitude;  or  not  the  cause,  but  the 
quantity  of  a gift,  made  liberality. 

These  dictates  of  reason,  men  used  to  call  by  the  name  of 
laws,  but  improperly : for  they  are  but  conclusions,  or  theorems 
concerning  what  conduceth  to  the  conservation  and  defence 
of  themselves ; whereas  law,  properly,  is  the  word  of  him  that  by 
right  hath  command  over  others.  But  yet  if  we  consider  the  same 
theorems,  as  delivered  in  the  word  of  God,  that  by  right  com- 
mandeth  all  things ; then  are  they  properly  called  laws. 


RALPH  GUDWORTH 

( 1617-1688 ) 

A TREATISE  CONCERNING  ETERNAL 
AND  IMMUTABLE  MORALITY* 

CHAPTER  II.  ETERNITT  OF  GOOD  AND  EVIL 

I.  Wherefore  in  the  first  place,  it  is  a thing  which  we  shall  very 
easily  demonstrate,  that  moral  good  and  evil,  just  and  unjust, 
honest  and  dishonest'  (if  they  be  not  mere  names  without  any 
signification,  or  names  for  nothing  else,  but  willed  and  com- 
manded,  but  have  a reality  in  respect  of  the  persons  obliged  to 
do  and  avoid  them)  cannot  possibly  be  arbitrary  things,  made  by 
will  without  nature;  because  it  is  universally  true,  that  things  are 
what  they  are,  not  by  will  but  by  nature.  As  for  example,  things  * 
are  white  by  whiteness,  and  black  by  blackness,  triangular  by 
triangularity,  and  round  by  rotundity,  like  by  likeness,  and  equal 
by  equality,  that  is,  by  such  certain  natures  of  their  own.  Neither 
can  Omnipotence  itself  (to  speak  with  reverence)  by  mere  will 
make  a thing  white  or  black  without  whiteness  or  blackness;  that 
is,  without  such  certain  natures,  whether  we  consider  them  as 
qualities  in  the  objects  without  us  according  to  the  Peripatetical 
philosophy,  or  as  certain  dispositions  of  parts  in  respect  of  magni- 
tude, figure,  site,  and  motion,  which  beget  these  sensations  or 
phantasms  of  white  and  black  in  us.  Or,  to  instance  in  geometri- 
cal figures.  Omnipotence  itself  cannot  by  mere  will  make  a body 
triangular,  without  having  the  nature  and  properties  of  a triangle 
in  it;  that  is,  without  having  three  angles  equal  to  two  right  ones, 
nor  circular  without  the  nature  of  a circle;  that  is,  without  having 
a circumference  equidistant  everywhere  from  the  centre  or  middle 
point.  Or  lastly,  to  instance  in  things  relative  only ; Omnipotent 
ill  cannot  make  things  like  or  equal  one  to  another,  without  the 
natures  of  likeness  and  equality.  The  reason  whereof  is  plain, 

* 'Written  before  1688.  First  published  London,  1731. 


230 


RALPH  CUDWORTH 


because  all  these  things  imply  a manifest  contradiction;  that 
things  should  be  what  they  are  not.  And  this  is  a truth  funda- 
mentally necessary  to  all  knowledge,  that  contradictories  cannot 
be  true : for  otherwise,  nothing  would  be  certainly  true  or  false. 
Now  things  may  as  well  be  made  white  or  black  by  mere  will, 
without  whiteness  or  blackness,  equal  and  unequal,  without 
equality  and  inequality,  as  morally  good  and  evil,  just  and  unjust, 
honest  and  dishonest,  debita  and  illicita,  by  mere  will,  without 
any  nature  of  goodness,  justice,  honesty.  For  though  the  Will  of 
God  be  the  supreme  efficient  cause  of  all  things,  and  can  produce 
into  being  or  existence,  or  reduce  into  nothing  what  it  pleaseth, 
yet  it  is  not  the  formal  cause  of  any  thing  besides  itself,  as  the 
schoolmen  have  determined,  in  these  words.  That  God  himself 
cannot  supply  the  place  of  a formal  cause : and  therefore  it  cannot 
supply  the  formal  cause,  or  nature  of  justice  or  injustice,  honesty 
or  dishonesty.  Now  all  that  we  have  hitherto  said  amounts  to  no 
more  than  this,  that  it  is  impossible  any  thing  should  be  by  will 
only,  that  is,  without  a nature  or  entity,  or  that  the  nature  and 
essence  of  anything  should  be  arbitrary. 

2.  And  since  a thing  cannot  be  made  any  thing  by  mere  will 
without  a being  or  nature,  every  thing  must  be  necessarily  and 
immutably  determined  by  its  own  nature,  and  the  nature  of  things 
be  that  which  it  is,  and  nothing  else.  For  though  the  will  and 
power  of  God  have  an  absolute,  infinite,  and  unlimited  command 
upon  the  existences  of  all  created  things  to  make  them  to  be,  or 
not  to  be  at  pleasure;  yet  when  things  exist,  they  are  what  they 
are,  this  or  that,  absolutely  or  relatively,  not  by  will  or  arbitrary 
command,  but  by  the  necessity  of  their  own  nature.  There  is  no 
such  thing  as  an  arbitrarious  essence,  mode  or  relation,  that  may 
be  made  indifferently  any  thing  at  pleasure:  for  an  arbitrarious 
essence  is  a being  without  a nature,  a contradiction,  and  there- 
fore a non-entity.  Wherefore  the  natures  of  justice  and  injustice 
cannot  be  arbitrarious  things,  that  may  be  applicable  by  will 
indifferently  to  any  actions  or  dispositions  whatsoever.  For  the 
modes  of  all  subsistent  beings,  and  the  relations  of  things  to  one 
another,  are  immutably  and  necessarily  what  they  are,  and  not 
arbitrary,  being  not  by  will  but  by  nature. 


ETERNAL  AND  IMMUTABLE  MORALITY  231 

3.  Now  the  necessary  consequence  of  that  which  we  have 
hitherto  said  is  this,  that  it  is  so  far  from  being  true,  that  all  moral 
good  and  evil,  just  and  unjust,  are  mere  arbitrary  and  factitious 
things,  that  are  created  wholly  by  will;  that  (if  we  would  speak 
properly)  we  must  needs  say  that  nothing  is  morally  good  or  evil, 
just  or  unjust  by  mere  will  without  nature,  because  every  thing  is 
what  it  is  by  nature,  and  not  by  will.  For  though  it  will  be 
objected  here,  that  when  God,  or  civil  powers  command  a thing 
to  be  done,  that  was  not  before  obligatory  or  unlawful,  the  thing 
willed  or  commanded  doth  forthwith  become  obligatory,  that 
which  ought  to  be  done  by  creatures  and  subjects  respectively; 
in  which  the  nature  of  moral  good  or  evil  is  commonly  conceived 
to  consist.  And  therefore  if  all  good  and  evil,  just  and  unjust  be 
not  the  creatures  of  mere  will  (as  many  assert),  yet  at  least  posi- 
tive things  must  needs  owe  all  their  morality,  their  good  and  evil 
to  mere  will  without  nature : yet  notwithstanding,  if  we  well  con- 
sider it,  we  shall  find  that  even  in  positive  commands  themselves, 
mere  will  doth  not  make  the  thing  commanded  just  or  obligatory, 
or  beget  and  create  any  obligation  to  obedience;  but  that  it  is 
natural  justice  or  equity,  which  gives  to  one  the  right  or  authority 
of  commanding,  and  begets  in  another  duty  and  obligation  to 
obedience.  Therefore  it  is  observable,  that  laws  and  commands 
do  not  run  thus,  to  will  that  this  or  that  thing  shall  become  just 
or  unjust,  obligatory  or  unlawful;  or  that  men  shall  be  obliged  or 
bound  to  obey ; but  only  to  require  that  something  be  done  or  not 
done,  or  otherwise  to  menace  pimishment  to  the  transgressors 
thereof.  For  it  was  never  heard  of,  that  any  one  founded  all  his 
authority  of  commanding  others,  and  others’  obligation  or  duty  to 
obey  his  commands,  in  a law  of  his  own  making,  that  men  should 
be  required,  obliged,  or  bound  to  obey  him.  Wherefore  since  the 
thing  willed  in  all  laws  is  not  that  men  should  be  bound  or 
obliged  to  obey ; this  thing  cannot  be  the  product  of  the  mere  will 
of  the  commander,  but  it  must  proceed  from  something  else; 
namely,  the  right  or  authority  of  the  commander,  which  is 
founded  in  natural  justice  and  equity,  and  an  antecedent  obliga- 
tion to  obedience  in  the  subjects ; which  things  are  not  made  by 
laws,  but  pre-supposed  before  all  laws  to  make  them  valid : and 


232 


RALPH  CUDWORTH 


if  it  should  be  imagined,  that  any  one  should  make  a positive  law 
to  require  that  others  should  be  obliged,  or  bound  to  obey  him,, 
every  one  would  think  such  a law  ridiculous  and  absurd;  for  if 
they  were  obliged  before,  then  this  law  would  be  in  vain,  and  to 
no  purpose;  and  if  they  were  not  before  obliged,  then  they  could 
not  be  obliged  by  any  positive  law,  because  they  were  not  previ- 
ously bound  to  obey  such  a person’s  commands : so  that  obliga- 
tion to  obey  all  positive  laws  is  older  than  all  laws,  and  previous 
or  antecedent  to  them.  Neither  is  it  a thing  that  is  arbitrarily 
made  by  will,  or  can  be  the  object  of  command,  but  that  which 
either  is  or  is  not  by  nature.  And  if  this  were  not  morally  good 
and  just  in  its  own  nature  before  any  positive  command  of  God, 
That  God  should  be  obeyed  by  his  creatures,  the  bare  will  of  God 
himself  could  not  beget  an  obligation  upon  any  to  do  what  he 
willed  and  commanded,  because  the  natures  of  things  do  not 
depend  upon  will,  being  not  things  that  are  arbitrarily  made,  but 
things  that  are.  To  conclude  therefore,  even  in  positive  laws  and 
commands  it  is  not  mere  will  that  obligeth,  but  the  natures  of 
good  and  evil,  just  and  unjust,  really  existing  in  the  world. 

4.  Wherefore  that  common  distinction  betwixt  things,  things 
naturally  and  positively  good  and  evil,  or  (as  others  express  it) 
betwixt  things  that  are  therefore  commanded  because  they  are 
good  and  just,  and  things  that  are  therefore  good  and  just,  because 
they  are  commanded,  stands  in  need  of  a right  explication,  that 
we  be  not  led  into  a mistake  thereby,  as  if  the  obligation  to  do 
those  thetical  and  positive  things  did  arise  wholly  from  will  with- 
out nature : whereas  it  is  not  the  mere  will  and  pleasure  of  him 
that  commandeth,  that  obligeth  to  do  positive  things  commanded, 
but  the  intellectual  nature  of  him  that  is  commanded.  Wherefore 
the  difference  of  these  things  lies  wholly  in  this.  That  there  are 
some  things  which  the  intellectual  nature  obligeth  to  of  itself,  and 
directly,  absolutely  and  perpetually,  and  these  things  are  called 
naturally  good  and  evil;  other  things  there  are  which  the  same 
intellectual  nature  obligeth  to  by  accident  only,  and  hypotheti- 
cally, upon  condition  of  some  voluntary  action  either  of  our  own 
or  some  other  persons,  by  means  whereof  those  things  which  were 
in  their  own  nature  indifferent,  falling  under  something  that  is 


ETERNAL  AND  IMMUTABLE  MORALITY  233 

absolutely  good  or  evil,  and  thereby  acquiring  a new  relation  to 
the  intellectual  nature,  do  for  the  time  become  such  things  as 
ought  to  be  done  or  omitted,  being  made  such  not  by  will  but 
by  nature.  As  for  example.  To  keep  faith  and  perform  covenants, 
is  that  which  natural  justice  obligeth  to  absolutely ; therefore  upon 
the  supposition  that  any  one  maketh  a promise,  which  is  a volun- 
tary act  of  his  own,  to  do  something  which  he  was  not  before 
obliged  to  by  natural  justice,  upon  the  intervention  of  this  volun- 
tary act  of  his  own,  that  indifferent  thing  promised  falling  now 
under  something  absolutely  good,  and  becoming  the  matter  of 
promise  and  covenant,  standeth  for  the  present  in  a new  relation 
to  the  rational  nature  of  the  promiser,  and  becometh  for  the  time 
a thing  which  ought  to  be  done  by  him,  or  which  he  is  obliged 
to  do.  Not  as  if  the  mere  will  or  words  and  breath  of  him  that 
covenanteth  had  any  power  to  change  the  moral  natures  of  things, 
or  any  ethical  virtue  of  obliging;  but  because  natural  justice  and 
equity  obligeth  to  keep  faith  and  perform  covenants.  In  like 
manner  natural  justice,  that  is,  the  rational  or  intellectual  nature, 
obligeth  not  only  to  obey  God,  but  also  civil  powers,  that  have 
lawful  authority  of  commanding,  and  to  observe  political  order 
amongst  men;  and  therefore  if  God  or  civil  powers  command  any 
thing  to  be  done  that  is  not  unlawful  in  itself;  upon  the  interven- 
tion of  this  voluntary  act  of  theirs,  those  things  that  were  before 
indifferent,  become  by  accident  for  the  time  obligatory,  such 
things  as  ought  to  be  done  by  us,  not  for  their  own  sakes,  but  for 
the  sake  of  that  which  natural  justice  absolutely  obligeth  to. 

And  these  are  the  things  that  are  commonly  called  positively 
good  and  evil,  just  or  unjust,  such  as  though  they  are  adiaphorous 
or  indifferent  in  themselves,  yet  natural  justice  obligeth  to  acci- 
dentally, on  supposition  of  the  voluntary  action  of  some  other 
person  rightly  qualified  in  commanding,  whereby  they  fall  into 
something  absolutely  good.  Which  things  are  not  made  good 
or  due  by  the  mere  will  or  pleasure  of  the  commander,  but  by 
that  natural  justice  which  gives  him  right  and  authority  of  com- 
manding, and  obligeth  others  to  obey  him;  without  which  nat- 
ural justice,  neither  covenants  nor  commands  could  possibly 
oblige  any  one.  For  the  will  of  another  doth  no  more  oblige  in 


234 


RALPH  CUDWORTH 


commands,  than  our  own  will  in  promises  and  covenants.  Tc 
conclude  therefore,  things  called  naturally  good  and  due  are  such 
things  as  the  intellectual  nature  obliges  to  immediately,  abso- 
lutely and  perpetually,  and  upon  no  condition  of  any  voluntary 
action  that  may  be  done  or  omitted  intervening;  but  those  things 
that  are  called  positively  good  and  due,  are  such  as  natural 
justice  or  the  intellectual  nature  obligeth  to  accidentally  and 
hypothetically,  upon  condition  of  some  voluntary  act  of  another 
person  invested  with  lawful  authority  in  commanding. 

And  that  it  is  not  the  mere  will  of  the  commander,  that  makes 
these  positive  things  to  oblige  or  become  due,  but  the  nature  of 
things,  appears  evidently  from  hence,  because  it  is  not  the  volition 
of  every  one  that  obligeth,  but  of  a person  rightly  qualified  and 
invested  with  lawful  authority;  and  because  the  liberty  of  com- 
manding is  circumscribed  within  certain  bounds  and  limits,  so 
that  if  any  commander  go  beyond  the  sphere  and  bounds  that 
nature  sets  him,  which  are  indifferent  things,  his  commands  will 
not  at  all  oblige. 

5.  But  if  we  would  speak  yet  more  accurately  and  precisely,  we 
might  rather  say,  that  no  positive  commands  whatsoever  do 
make  any  thing  morally  good  and  evil,  just  and  unjust,  which 
nature  had  not  made  such  before.  For  indifferent  things  com- 
manded, considered  materially  in  themselves,  remain  still  what 
they  were  before  in  their  own  nature,  that  is,  indifferent,  because 
(as  Aristotle  speaks)  will  cannot  change  nature.  And  those  things 
that  are  by  nature  indifferent,  must  needs  be  as  immutably  so,  as 
those  things  that  are  by  nature  just  or  unjust,  honest  or  shameful. 
But  all  the  moral  goodness,  justice  and  virtue  that  is  exercised  in 
obeying  positive  commands,  and  doing  such  things  as  are  positive 
only  and  to  be  done  for  no  other  cause  but  because  they  are  com- 
manded, or  in  respect  to  political  order,  consisteth  not  in  the 
materiality  of  the  actions  themselves,  but  in  that  formality  of 
yielding  obedience  to  the  commands  of  lawful  authority  in  them. 
Just  as  when  a man  covenanteth  or  promiseth  to  do  an  indifferent 
thing  which  by  natural  justice  he  was  not  bound  to  do,  the  virtue 
of  doing  it  consisteth  not  in  the  materiality  of  the  action  promised, 
but  in  the  formality  of  keeping  faith  and  performing  covenants. 


ETERNAL  AND  IMMUTABLE  MORALITY  235 

Wherefore  in  positive  commands,  the  will  of  the  commander  doth 
not  create  any  new  moral  entity,  but  only  diversly  modifies  and 
determines  that  general  duty  or  obligation  of  natural  justice  to 
obey  lawful  authority  and  keep  oaths  and  covenants,  as  our  own 
will  in  promising  doth  but  produce  several  modifications  of  keep- 
ing faith.  And  therefore  there  are  no  new  things  just  or  due  made 
by  either  of  them,  besides  what  was  alway  by  nature  such,  to 
keep  our  own  promises,  and  obey  the  lawful  commands  of  others. 

6.  We  see  then  that  it  is  so  far  from  being  true,  that  all  moral 
good  and  evil,  just  and  unjust  (if  they  be  anything)  are  made  by 
m.ere  will  and  arbitrary  commands  (as  many  conceive)  that  it  is 
not  possible  that  any  command  of  God  or  man  should  oblige 
otherwise  than  by  virtue  of  that  which  is  naturally  just.  And 
tho’  particular  promises  and  commands  be  made  by  will,  yet  it  is 
not  will  but  nature  that  obligeth  to  the  doing  of  things  promised 
and  commanded,  or  makes  them  such  things  as  ought  to  be  done. 
For  mere  will  cannot  change  the  moral  nature  of  actions,  nor  the 
nature  of  intellectual  beings.  And  therefore  if  there  were  no 
natural  justice,  that  is,  if  the  rational  or  intellectual  nature  in  it- 
self were  indetermined  and  unobliged  to  any  thing,  and  so  desti- 
tute of  all  morality,  it  were  not  possible  that  any  thing  should  be 
made  morally  good  or  evil,  obligatory  or  unlawful,  or  that  any 
moral  obligation  should  be  begotten  by  any  will  or  command 
whatsoever. 

CHAPTER  III.  IMMUTABILITY  OF  GOOD  AND 

EVIL 

I.  But  some  there  are  that  will  still  contend,  that  though  it 
should  be  granted  that  moral  good  and  evil,  just  and  unjust  do 
not  depend  upon  any  created  will,  yet  notwithstanding  they  must 
needs  depend  upon  the  arbitrary  will  of  God,  because  the  natures 
and  essences  of  all  things,  and  consequently  all  verities  and 
falsities,  depend  upon  the  same.  For  if  the  natures  and  essences 
of  things  should  not  depend  upon  the  will  of  God,  it  would  follow 
from  hence,  that  something  that  was  not  God  was  independent 
upon  God. 


RALPH  CUDWORTH 


236 

2.  And  this  is  plainly  asserted  by  that  ingenious  philosopher 
Renatus  Des  Cartes,  who  in  his  answer  to  the  sixth  objector 
against  his  metaphysical  meditations,  writes  thus:  It  is  a con- 
tradiction to  say,  that  the  will  of  God  was  not  from  eternity  indif- 
ferent to  all  things  which  are  or  ever  shall  be  done;  because  no 
good  or  evil,  nothing  to  be  believed  or  done  or  omitted,  can  be 
fixed  upon,  the  idea  whereof  was  in  the  divine  intellect  before 
that  his  will  determined  itself  to  effect  that  such  a thing  should  be. 
Neither  do  I speak  this  concerning  priority  of  time,  but  even  there 
was  nothing  prior  in  order  or  by  nature,  or  reason  as  they  call 
it,  so  as  that  that  idea  of  good  inclined  God  to  choose  one  thing 
rather  than  another.  As  for  example’s  sake,  he  would  therefore 
create  the  world  in  time,  because  that  he  saw  that  it  would  be 
better  so  than  if  he  had  created  it  from  eternity;  neither  willed 
he  that  the  three  angles  of  a triangle  should  be  equal  to  two  right 
angles,  because  he  knew  that  it  could  not  be  otherwise.  But  on 
the  contrary,  because  he  would  create  the  world  in  time,  therefore 
it  is  better  than  if  he  had  created  it  from  eternity;  and  because 
he  would  that  the  three  angles  of  a triangle  should  necessarily  be 
equal  to  two  right  angles,  therefore  this  is  true  and  can  be  no 
otherwise;  and  so  of  other  things.  And  thus  the  greatest  indif- 
ference in  God  is  the  greatest  argument  of  his  omnipotence. 

And  again  afterward.  To  him  that  considers  the  immensity  of 
God  it  is  manifest,  that  there  can  be  nothing  at  all  which  doth 
not  depend  upon  him,  not  only  nothing  subsisting,  but  also  no 
order,  no  law,  no  reason  of  truth  and  goodness. 

And  when  he  was  again  urged  by  the  sixth  objector.  Could  not 
God  cause  that  the  nature  of  a triangle  should  not  be  such  ? and 
how,  I pray  thee,  could  he  from  eternity  cause  that  it  should  not 
be  true,  that  twice  four  are  eight  ? He  confesseth  ingenuously  that 
those  things  were  not  intelligible  to  us;  but  yet  notwithstanding 
they  must  be  so,  because  nothing  in  any  sort  of  being  can  be, 
which  doth  not  depend  upon  God.  Which  doctrine  of  Cartesius  is 
greedily  swallowed  down  by  some  servile  followers  of  his  that 
have  lately  written  of  the  old  philosophy. 

3.  Perhaps  some  may  make  a question  for  all  this,  whether 
Cartesius  were  any  more  in  earnest  in  this,  than  when  he  elsewhere 


ETERNAL  AND  IMMUTABLE  MORALITY  237 

goes  about  to  defend  the  doctrine  of  transubstantiation  by  the 
principles  of  his  new  philosophy,  because  in  his  Meditations  upon 
the  old  philosophy  (where  it  is  probable  he  would  set  down  the 
genuine  sense  of  his  own  mind  more  undisguisedly,  before  he  was 
assaulted  by  these  objectors,  and  thereby  forced  to  turn  himself 
into  several  shapes)  he  affirmeth  that  the  essences  of  things 
were  eternal  and  immutable ; but  being  afterward  urged  by  Gas- 
sendus  with  this  inconvenience,  that  then  something  would  be  eter- 
nal and  immutable  besides  God,  and  so  independent  upon  God, 
he  doth  in  a manner  unsay  it  again,  and  betakes  himself  to  this 
pitiful  evasion,  as  the  poets  feign  that  the  fates  were  indeed  fixed 
by  Jupiter,  but  that  when  they  were  fixed,  he  had  obliged  him- 
self to  the  preserving  of  them ; so  I do  not  think  that  the  essences 
of  things,  and  those  mathematical  truths  which  can  be  known 
of  them,  are  independent  on  God;  but  I think  nevertheless  that 
because  God  so  willed,  and  so  ordered,  therefore  they  are  im- 
mutable and  eternal;  which  is  plainly  to  make  them  in  their  own 
nature  mutable.  But  whether  Cartesius  were  in  jest  or  earnest  in 
this  business,  it  matters  not,  for  his  bare  authority  ought  to  be 
no  more  valued  by  us  than  the  authority  of  Aristotle  and  other 
ancient  philosophers  was  by  him,  whom  he  so  freely  dissents 
from. 

4.  For  though  the  names  of  things  may  be  changed  by  any  one 
at  pleasure,  as  that  a square  may  be  called  a circle,  or  a cube  a 
sphere;  yet  that  the  nature  of  a square  should  not  be  necessarily 
what  it  is,  but  be  arbitrarily  convertible  into  the  nature  of  a 
circle,  and  so  the  essence  of  a circle  into  the  essence  of  a sphere,  or 
that  the  self-same  body,  which  is  perfectly  cubical,  without  any 
physical  alteration  made  in  it,  should  by  this  metaphysical  way  of 
transformation  of  essences,  by  mere  will  and  command  be  made 
spherical  or  cylindrical ; this  doth  most  plainly  imply  a contradic- 
tion, and  the  compossibility  of  contradictions  destroys  all  know- 
ledge and  the  definite  natures  or  notions  of  things.  Nay,  that 
which  implies  a contradiction  is  a non-entity,  and  therefore  can- 
not be  the  object  of  divine  power.  And  the  reason  is  the  same 
for  all  other  things,  as  just  and  unjust;  for  everything  is  what  it 
is  immutably  by  the  necessity  of  its  own  nature ; neither  is  it  any 


RALPH  CUDWORTH 


238 

derogation  at  all  from  the  power  of  God  to  say,  that  he  cannot 
make  a thing  to  be  that  which  it  is  not.  Then  there  might  be  no 
such  thing  as  knowledge  in  God  himself.  God  might  will  that 
there  should  be  no  such  thing  as  knowledge. 

5.  And  as  to  the  being  or  not  being  of  particular  essences,  as 
that  God  might,  if  he  pleased,  have  willed  that  there  should  be  no 
such  thing  as  a triangle  or  circle,  and  therefore  nothing  demon- 
strable or  knowable  of  either  of  them ; which  is  likewise  asserted 
by  Cartesius,  and  those  that  make  the  essences  of  things  depend- 
ent upon  an  arbitrary  will  in  God ; This  is  all  one  as  if  one  should 
say,  that  God  could  have  willed,  if  he  had  pleased,  that  neither 
his  own  power  nor  knowledge  should  be  infinite. 

6.  Now  it  is  certain.  That  if  the  natures  and  essences  of  all 
things,  as  to  their  being  such  or  such,  do  depend  upon  a will  of 
God  that  is  essentially  arbitrary,  there  can  be  no  such  thing  as 
science  or  demonstration,  nor  the  truth  of  any  mathematical  or 
metaphysical  proposition  be  known  any  otherwise,  than  by  some 
revelation  of  the  will  of  God  concerning  it,  and  by  a certain  enthu- 
siastic or  fanatic  faith  and  persuasion  thereupon,  that  God  would 
have  such  a thing  to  be  true  or  false  at  such  a time,  or  for  so  long. 
And  so  nothing  would  be  true  or  false  naturally  but  positively 
only,  all  truth  and  science  being  mere  arbitrarious  things.  Truth 
and  falsehood  would  be  only  names.  Neither  would  there  be  any 
more  certainty  in  the  knowledge  of  God  himself,  since  it  must 
wholly  depend  upon  the  mutability  of  a will  in  him  essentially 
indifferent  and  undetermin’d;  and  if  we  would  speak  properly 
according  to  this  hypothesis,  God  himself  would  not  know  or  be 
wise  by  knowledge  or  by  wisdom,  but  by  will. 

7.  Wherefore  as  for  that  argument.  That  unless  the  essences  of 
things  and  all  verities  and  falsities  depend  upon  the  arbitrary  will 
of  God,  there  would  be  something  that  was  not  God,  independent 
upon  God;  if  it  be  well  consider’d,  it  will  prove  a mere  bugbear, 
and  nothing  so  terrible  and  formidable  as  Cartesius  seemed  to 
think  it.  For  there  is  no  other  genuine  consequence  deducible 
from  this  assertion.  That  the  essences  and  verities  of  things  are 
independent  upon  the  will  of  God,  but  that  there  is  an  eternal  and 
immutable  wisdom  in  the  mind  of  God,  and  thence  participated 


ETERNAL  AND  IMMUTABLE  MORALITY  239 

by  created  beings  independent  upon  the  will  of  God.  Now  the 
wisdom  of  God  is  as  much  God  as  the  will  of  God ; and  whether 
of  these  two  things  in  God,  that  is,  will  or  wisdom,  should  depend 
upon  the  other,  will  be  best  determined  from  the  several  natures 
of  them.  For  wisdom  in  itself  hath  the  natme  of  a rule  and  mea- 
sure, it  being  a most  determinate  and  inflexible  thing;  but  will 
being  not  only  a blind  and  dark  thing,  as  consider’d  in  itself, 
but  also  indefinite  and  indeterminate,  hath  therefore  the  nature  of 
a thing  regulable  and  measurable.  Wherefore  it  is  the  perfection 
of  will,  as  such,  to  be  guided  and  determined  by  wisdom  and 
truth ; but  to  make  wisdom,  knowledge  and  truth,  to  be  arbitra- 
rily determined  by  will,  and  to  be  regulated  by  such  a plumbean 
and  flexible  rule  as  that  is,  is  quite  to  destroy  the  nature  of  it; 
for  science  or  knowledge  is  the  comprehension  of  that  which 
necessarily  is,  and  there  can  be  nothing  more  contradictious  than 
truth  and  falsehood  arbitrary.  Now  all  the  knowledge  and  wis- 
dom that  is  in  creatures,  whether  angels  or  men,  is  nothing  else 
but  a participation  of  that  one  eternal,  immutable  and  increated 
wisdom  of  God,  or  several  signatures  of  that  one  archetypal  seal, 
or  like  so  many  multiplied  reflections  of  one  and  the  same  face, 
made  in  several  glasses,  whereof  some  are  clearer,  some  ob- 
scurer, some  standing  nearer,  some  further  off. 

8.  Moreover,  it  was  the  opinion  of  the  wisest  of  the  philoso- 
phers (as  we  shall  show  afterward)  that  there  is  also  in  the  scale 
of  being  a nature  of  goodness  superior  to  wisdom,  which  therefore 
measures  and  determines  the  wisdom  of  God,  as  his  wisdom 
measures  and  determines  his  will,  and  which  the  ancient  Cab- 
alists  were  wont  to  call  "inn,  a Crown,  as  being  the  top  or  crown 
of  the  Deity,  of  which  more  afterward.  Wherefore  altho’  some 
novelists  make  a contracted  idea  of  God,  consisting  of  nothing 
else  but  will  and  power;  yet  his  nature  is  better  expressed  by 
some  in  this  mystical  or  enigmatical  representation  of  an  infinite 
circle,  whose  inmost  center  is  simple  goodness,  the  rays  and  ex- 
panded plat  thereof,  all  comprehending  and  immutable  wisdom, 
the  exterior  periphery  or  interminate  circumference,  omnipotent 
will  or  activity,  by  which  every  thing  without  god  is  brought  forth 
into  existence.  Wherefore  the  will  and  power  of  God  have  no 


240 


RALPH  CUDWORTH 


command  inwardly  either  upon  the  wisdom  and  knowledge  of 
God,  or  upon  the  ethical  and  moral  disposition  of  his  nature, 
which  is  his  essential  goodness;  but  the  sphere  of  its  activity  is 
without  God,  where  it  hath  an  absolute  command  upon  the  exis- 
tences of  things ; and  is  always  free,  tho’  not  always  indifferent, 
since  it  is  its  greatest  perfection  to  be  determined  by  infinite  wis- 
dom and  infinite  goodness.  But  this  is  to  anticipate  what  accord- 
ing to  the  laws  of  method  should  follow  afterward  in  another 
place. 


HENRY  MORE 

( 1614-1687 ) 

ENCHIRIDION  ETHICUM 


Translated  from  the  Latin  * by 
EDWARD  KENNARD  RAND 

CHAPTER  I.  WHAT  ETHICS  IS 

Ethics  is  the  art  of  living  well  and  happily.  By  art  1 under- 
stand a methodical  comprehension  of  homogeneous  precepts. 
And  consequently  since  the  art  which  we  treat  here  is  ethical, 
it  is  necessary  that  all  the  precepts  should  be  really  ethical, 
and  should  rightly  lead  to  the  attainment  of  its  end,  other- 
wise they  would  not  be  homogeneous.  Hence  no  precepts  are 
here  to  be  expected  which  conduce  to  unprofitable  disputation, 
but  those  only  which  are  serviceable  for  the  right  ordering 
of  life. 

CHAPTER  II.  ON  THE  DIVISIONS  OF  ETHICS 
AND  ON  HAPPINESS 

Ethics  consists  of  two  parts,  the  knowledge  of  happiness  and  its 
attainment.  This  knowledge  embraces  the  doctrine  of  the  nature 
of  happiness,  and  of  those  things  which  its  nature  to  some  extent 
at  least  touches  or  includes.  Wherefore  in  this  first  part  we  must 
treat  especially  the  virtues  and  the  passions,  and  lastly  add  some- 
thing on  external  goods. 

Happiness  is  the  pleasure  which  the  mind  receives  from  the 
sense  of  virtue  and  from  the  consciousness  of  deeds  done  rightly 
and  according  to  the  norm  of  virtue.  Therefore  a moderate 
share,  at  least,  of  so-called  external  goods  conduces  to  perfect 
happiness. 


* From  Henry  More’s  Enchiridion  Ethicum,  London,  1667. 


242 


HENRY  MORE 


CHAPTER  III.  ON  VIRTUE  IN  GENERAL  AND 
ON  RIGHT  REASON 

Virtue  is  an  intellectual  force  of  the  soul  which  so  rules  over 
animal  suggestions  or  bodily  passions  that  it  easily  attains  that 
which  is  absolutely  and  simply  the  best. 

1.  But  since  there  are  some  whose  souls  have  outgrown  all  sense 
of  God  and  of  divine  things  and  who  recognize  no  sure  guiding 
principle  over  the  faculties,  but  maintain  that  we  must  obey  that 
passion  which  by  mere  chance  asserts  sovereignty  among  the 
others,  and  fulfil  its  desires,  who  furthermore  contend  that  in  this 
consists  the  sum  of  human  felicity;  against  these  men,  surely  (if 
only  they  be  men,  and  not  vile  beasts)  we  must  proceed  by  an- 
Qther  way,  and  by  setting  forth  the  measure  of  Right  Reason, 
which  derives  not  from  that  most  divine  portion  of  the  soul  which 
we  call  boniform  but  from  the  intellectual  part  properly  so-called. 
For  there  may  be  intellectual  conception  of  those  terms  of  which 
there  is  no  reason.'^ 

2.  I will  take  from  this  storehouse,  therefore,  certain  principles 
which  are  immediately  true  and  needing  no  proof,  but  into  which 
almost  all  moral  doctrine  is  plainly  and  easily  resolved,  even  as 
mathematical  demonstrations  are  resolved  into  their  common 
axioms.  Since  these  are  the  fruit  of  that  faculty  which  is  properly 
ailed  Nou9,  I thought  it  not  inappropriate  to  call  them  Noemata. 
Such  is  the  nature  of  the  matters  that  follow,  and  lest  any  one 
should  fear  they  may  do  him  ill,  I do  pledge  my  word  that  they 
savour  not  of  severity  or  austerity  but  are  altogether  like  honey, 
and  entirely  sweet  and  delicious,  inasmuch  as  they  propose  no 
good  save  that  which  is  pleasant  and  agreeable  to  the  recipient. 


CHAPTER  IF.  CERTAIN  NOEMATA  OR  INTELLEC- 
TUAL PRINCIPLES,  INTO  WHICH  WELLNIGH 
ALL  MORAL  DOCTRINE  IS  RESOLVED 

Noema  I 

A good  is  that  which  is  pleasant,  agreeable,  and  well-suited  to 

* Aristotle,  Moral.  Eudem.,  lib,  v.  cap.  8. 


ENCHIRIDION  ETHICUM 


243 

any  perceptive  life  or  grade  of  such  life  and  which  involves  the 
preservation  of  the  recipient. 

Noema  II 

On  the  other  hand,  what  is  unpleasant,  disagreeable,  and  ill- 
suited  to  any  perceptive  life  or  grade  of  such  life,  is  an  evil,  and 
if  ultimately  involving  the  destruction  of  the  recipient,  an  extreme 
evil. 

For  example,  if  something  not  only  injured  the  eyes  or  the  ears 
but  also  superinduced  deafness  or  blindness,  that  would  be  an 
extreme  evil.  It  would  be  almost  as  great  an  evil  even  though  the 
sight  as  a result  were  merely  enfeebled  or  the  hearing  dulled.  The 
same  principle  applies  to  the  other  faculties. 

Noema  III 

Of  the  species  or  grades  of  perceptive  lives  which  are  found  in 
the  universe,  some  are  superior  to  others  and  more  excellent. 

Noema  IV 

One  good  may  be  superior  to  another  in  nature,  in  duration,  or 
in  both. 

This  is  clear  of  itself.  Still  it  may  be  illustrated  from  this  un- 
pleasant consequence,  that  otherwise  no  life  would  be  better  than 
another  and  no  felicity  greater  than  another.  Hence  equal  felicity 
would  be  the  lot  of  God,  angel,  man,  horse,  and  any  vile  little 
worm.  This  nobody,  unless  he  be  clearly  insane,  can  ever  ad- 
mit. On  the  matter  of  duration,  not  even  the  slightest  doubt  or 
difficulty  can  arise. 

Noema  V 

What  is  good,  should  be  sought,  but  evil,  eschewed.  Moreover, 
the  superior  good  should  be  sought  rather  than  that  which  is 
inferior,  and  the  lesser  evil  be  endured,  that  we  incur  not  a 
greater. 

Noema  VI 

In  that  in  which  we  are  not  yet  experienced  ourselves,  we 
should  believe  those  who  profess  themselves  experienced,  if  only 


244 


HENRY  MORE 


they  lead  a life  conformed  to  their  profession,  with  no  savour  of 
deceit  or  snare  of  worldly  profit. 

Noema  VII 

The  absence  of  a good  which  is  as  light  is  more  desirable  than 
the  presence  of  an  evil,  which  likewise  is  as  light,  in  respect  to 
weight  and  duration;  and  it  is,  further,  so  much  the  more  de- 
sirable as  evil  exceeds  good  in  weight  and  duration. 

Noema  VIII 

That  which  is  surely  coming  to  pass  should  be  reckoned  as 
present,  seeing  that  at  some  time  it  will  come  as  really  present 
and  affect  us  in  the  present.  And  this  reasoning  is  almost  as  true 
of  that  which  will  most  probably  happen. 

Noema  IX 

Inferior  goods  are  measured  in  relation  to  superior  by  weight 
and  duration. 

Noema  X 

A present  good  should  be  discontinued  or  diminished  in  case  of 
a probable  expectation  of  a future  good  infinitely  superior  to  a 
present  good  in  weight  and  duration;  and  much  more  so  in  case  of 
a certain  expectation. 

Noema  XI 

A present  evil  should  be  endured  that  we  may  avoid  an  evil 
probably  to  occur  infinitely  greater  than  the  present  in  weight  and 
duration.  The  same  may  be  still  more  positively  asserted,  when 
the  evil  is  certain  to  occur. 

Noema  XII 

The  mind  judges  more  rightly  when  free  from  the  prejudice  of 
the  affections  than  when  it  is  entangled  in  or  perturbed  by  the 
passions  or  any  bodily  suggestions. 

For  even  as  a cloudy  sky  or  troubled  water  does  not  admit  the 
light,  so  the  mind  when  perturbed  and  clouded  by  the  passions 


ENCHIRIDION  ETHICUM 


245 


scarcely  admits  even  the  clearest  reason.  With  this  similitude 
Boethius  illustrates  the  matter  admirably  in  the  poem  beginning 

Buried  in  black  clouds,  the  stars  may  shed  no  light. 

But  it  is  too  long  to  be  transcribed  here. 

3.  These,  then,  in  general,  are  the  Noemata  which  tend  to 
imbue  the  soul  with  prudence,  temperance,  and  fortitude,  which 
concern  our  duty  to  ourselves.  Those  that  follow  concern  our 
duty  to  others,  that  is,  men  and  God,  and  concern  Virtue.  They 
therefore  are  the  foundation  of  sincerity,  justice,  gratitude, 
mercy  and  piety.  For  I number  piety  with  the  moral  virtues, 
since  God  is  knowable  by  the  light  of  nature. 

Noema  XIII 

We  should  pursue  the  highest  and  most  absolute  good  with  the 
highest  ardor,  medium  goods  with  medium  ardor,  the  least  goods 
with  least  ardor:  nor  should  we  subordinate  the  highest  goods 
and  the  goods  cognate  with  the  highest,  to  the  medium  and  the 
least,  but  the  medium  and  the  least  to  the  highest. 

Noema  XIV 

The  good  that  you  wish  bestowed  upon  you  in  given  circum- 
stances you  ought  yourself  to  bestow  upon  another  in  the  same 
circumstances,  so  far  as  may  be  done  without  injury  to  some  third 
person. 

Noema  XV 

The  evil  that  you  do  not  wish  done  to  you,  you  ought  to  refrain 
from  doing  to  another,  so  far  as  may  be  done  without  injury  to 
some  third  person. 

Noema  XVI 

Good  should  be  repaid  with  good,  not  evil. 

Noema  XVII 

It  is  good  for  a man  to  have  that  wherewith  he  may  live  well 
and  happily. 


246  HENRY  MORE 

Noema  XVIII 

If  it  is  good  that  one  man  should  be  supplied  with  that  where- 
with he  may  live  well  and  happily,  it  follows  by  sure  analogy 
and  even  mathematically  that  it  is  twice  as  good  so  to  supply  two 
men,  thrice  to  supply  three,  a thousandfold  to  supply  a thousand, 
and  so  on. 

Noema  XIX 

It  is  better  for  one  man  not  to  live  pleasurably  than  for  another 
to  live  ruinously  and  wretchedly, 

Noema  XX 

It  is  good  to  obey  a magistrate  in  matters  ethically  indifferent, 
even  when  there  is  no  fear  of  punishment, 

Noema  XXI 

It  is  better  to  obey  God  than  man  and  our  own  desires, 
Noema  XXII 

It  is  good  and  just  that  to  each  should  be  given  his  own,  and  the 
use  and  possession  thereof  should  be  granted  him  without  annoy- 
ance, 

Noema  XXIII 

However,  it  is  manifest  that  one  may  so  conduct  himself  that 
that  which  by  acquisition  or  gift  is  his  own  may  rightly  cease  to  be 
his  own. 

4.  These  and  similar  declarations  you  may  rightly  call  Moral 
Noemata,  since  they  are  in  themselves  so  clear  and  manifest,  if 
any  one  will  consider  them  apart  from  all  prejudice,  that  they 
need  no  complex  reasons  or  lengthy  argumentative  deductions, 
but  are  recognized  at  first  sight  as  true  of  themselves.  We  have 
now  therefore  in  readiness  an  answer  for  the  question  as  to  what 
Right  Reason  is.  For  it  is  that  which  by  certain  and  necessary 
consequences  may  be  ultimately  resolved  into  some  Intellectual 
Principle  that  is  immediately  true.  If,  further,  one  ask  an  exam- 
ple of  this  sort  of  Principles  in  Ethics,  those  are  at  hand  which  we 
have  just  reviewed. 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

(1631-1718) 

A TREATISE  OF  THE  LAWS  OF  NATURE 

Translated  from  the  Latin  * by 
JOHN  MAXWELL 

CHAPTER  I.  OF  THE  NATURE  OF  THINGS 

Although  the  Sceptics  and  Epicureans  of  old  denied,  and  others 
of  similar  principles  still  persist  in  denying  that  there  are  any 
laws  of  nature,  nevertheless,  on  all  sides  it  is  agreed  what  is  in- 
tended by  those  terms.  All  understand  thereby  certain  propo- 
sitions of  unchangeable  truth  which  direct  our  voluntary  actions 
in  the  choice  of  good  and  in  the  refusal  of  evil ; and  which  im- 
pose upon  us  an  obligation  to  regulate  our  external  actions,  even 
without  civil  laws,  and  apart  from  all  considerations  of  those 
compacts  which  constitute  civil  government.  That  some  such 
truths  are,  from  the  nature  of  things  in  general  and  of  human 
nature  in  particular,  necessarily  suggested  to  the  minds  of  men, 
and  are  by  them  understood  and  remembered  whilst  their 
faculties  continue  unimpaired,  and  that  therefore  these  truths 
have  there  a real  existence  — this  is  what  we  affirm,  and  our 
adversaries  expressly  deny. 

In  order  that  the  nature  of  these  propositions  may  more 
plainly  appear,  it  is  necessary  that  we  first  examine  the  nature 
of  things  in  general,  then  that  of  mankind,  and  lastly  that  of 
the  good,  in  so  far  as  relates  to  our  question.  We  must  after- 
wards show  what  kind  of  propositions  direct  the  actions  of  men, 
and  carry  along  with  them  naturally  the  force  and  obligation  of 
laws,  inasmuch  as  they  point  out  what  is  necessary  to  be  done 
to  attain  the  end  which  nature  has  determined  men  to  pursue. 
Lastly,  that  there  are  such  laws  will  sufficiently  appear  from 

* From  De  Legihus  Naturae  Disquisitio  Philosophica.  London,  1672.  Re- 
printed, with  verbal  changes,  from  R.  Cumberland’s  A Treatise  oj  the  Laws  of 
Nature,  translated  by  John  Maxwell,  London,  1727. 


248  RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

the  certainty  and  necessary  influence  of  those  causes  which  pro- 
duce them. 

§ II.  It  ought  not  to  seem  strange  to  any,  that  it  is  here  said, 
that  the  nature  of  things  in  the  universe  ought  first  to  be  con- 
sidered, because  the  various  faculties  of  man,  which  have  need 
of  many  things  for  their  preservation  and  improvement,  and 
which  are  excited  by  all  of  them  to  action,  cannot  be  otherwise 
understood.  For  how  can  any  one  understand  what  is  most  agree- 
able or  most  hurtful  to  the  human  mind  or  body,  unless  he  con- 
sider so  far  as  it  is  possible,  all  those  causes,  remote  as  well  as 
near,  which  first  formed  and  now  preserve  man,  and  may  here- 
after either  support  or  destroy  him?  Nor  is  it  possible  to  deter- 
mine what  is  the  best  thing  a man  can  do  in  each  instance,  un- 
less the  effects,  remote  as  well  as  near,  which  may  result  in 
every  variety  of  circumstances,  be  foreseen  and  compared 
among  themselves.  But  the  consideration  of  the  causes  on  which 
men  are  dependent,  and  of  those  effects  which  may  be  pro- 
duced by  the  concurrence  of  their  own  powers  with  such  causes 
must  necessarily  lead  every  man  to  consider  not  only  other  men, 
wheresoever  dispersed,  and  himself  as  a small  part  of  mankind, 
but  also  to  contemplate  this  entire  frame  of  nature,  and  to  recog- 
nize God,  as  its  first  founder  and  supreme  governor.  These 
things  being  considered  in  the  best  manner  possible,  certain 
general  propositions  of  the  reason  may  be  learned  by  which  can 
be  determined  what  sort  of  human  actions  chiefly  promote  the 
common  good  of  all  beings,  especially  of  such  as  are  rational, 
and  wherein  each  man’s  proper  happiness  is  contained.  And 
we  shall  hereafter  see  that  in  such  conclusions,  provided  they  be 
true  and  necessary,  the  law  of  nature  is  contained. 

§ III.  Nevertheless  the  nature  of  our  undertaking  does  not 
require  that  we  should  take  a detailed  view  of  all  kinds  of  beings. 
. . . It  is  sufficient  for  us  in  the  beginning  of  this  undertak- 
ing to  have  admonished  the  reader  that  the  whole  of  moral 
philosophy  and  also  the  entire  science  of  the  laws  of  nature 
are  ultimately  resolved  into  natural  observations  known  by  the 
experience  of  all  men,  or  into  conclusions  recognized  as  true 
natural  philosophy.  But  natural  philosophy  in  the  large  sense 


THE  LAWS  OF  NATURE 


249 


in  which  it  is  here  used  does  not  only  comprehend  all  those 
phenomena  of  natural  bodies  which  we  know  from  experiment, 
but  also  inquires  into  the  nature  of  our  souls,  by  means  of  ob- 
servations made  upon  the  mind’s  operations  and  characteristic 
perfections,  and  at  length  leads  men  by  the  chain  of  natural 
causes  to  the  knowledge  of  the  first  mover,  acknowdedging  him 
to  be  the  cause  of  all  necessary  effects.  For  the  nature,  as  well 
of  the  creatures  as  of  the  creator,  suggests  all  those  ideas  from 
which  the  laws  of  nature  are  formed,  and  reveals  the  truth  of 
those  laws  as  practical  propositions;  but  their  full  authority  is 
derived  from  the  knowledge  of  the  creator.  All  this  requires 
however  to  be  explained  a little  more  at  length  in  this  place. 

§ IV.  Although  there  are  innumerable  ideas  that  a contem- 
plation of  the  universe  may  furnish  us,  to  form  the  content  of 
the  particular  propositions,  which  are  to  regulate  our  customs,  I 
have,  nevertheless,  thought  proper  to  select  only  a few,  and  those 
the  most  general,  to  explain  in  some  measure  that  general  de- 
scription of  the  laws  of  nature  which  I proposed  at  the  beginning 
of  this  chapter  and  which  are  contained  a little  more  manifestly 
in  one  proposition,  that  is  the  fountain  of  all  natural  laws.  This 
fundamental  proposition  is;  The  greatest  benevolence  of  every 
rational  agent  towards  all,  constitutes  the  happiest  state  of  all  hi 
general  and  of  each  in  particular,  as  far  as  is  in  their  power  to 
procure  it;  and  is  necessarily  requisite  in  order  to  attain  the  hap- 
piest state,  to^which  they  can  aspire;  and  therefore  the  common 
good  of  all  is  the  supreme  law. 

The  sense  of  this  proposition  is  first  rightly  to  be  explained ; 
secondly,  it  is  to  be  shown  how  it  may  be  learned  from  the  na- 
ture of  things;  and  lastly,  I hope  it  will  plainly  appear  from  what 
follows  in  this  treatise,  that  it  has  the  force  of  a law,  and  that 
all  the  laws  of  nature  flow  from  it. 

The  reader  must  observe  that  I nowhere  understand  by  the 
term  benevolence  that  languid  and  lifeless  volition  of  theirs  which 
effects  nothing  of  what  one  is  said  to  desire,  but  that  force  only 
whereby  we  execute  as  speedily  and  thoroughly  as  we  are  able 
what  we  heartily  desire.  We  must  likewise  also  comprehend  in 
this  word  that  affection  by  reason  of  which  we  desire  things 


250 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 


agreeable  to  our  superiors,  which  is  more  particularly  desig- 
nated as  piety  towards  God,  love  towards  our  country,  and  re- 
spect towards  our  parents.  I chose  moreover  to  make  use  of  the 
word  benevolence,  rather,  than  that  of  love,  because,  by  virtue 
of  its  component  parts,  it  implies  an  act  of  our  will  joined  with 
its  most  general  object,  the  good,  and  is  never  taken  in  a bad 
sense  as  the  word  love  sometimes  is.  I have  said  the  greatest 
benevolence,  because  I would  express  the  entire  or  adequate 
cause  of  the  greatest  happiness.  By  the  word  all  I understand 
the  entire  body  of  rational  beings,  considered  together,  having 
regard  to  one  end,  which  I there  mention  by  the  name  of  the 
happiest  state.  By  the  term  rational  being  I beg  leave  to  under- 
stand God  as  well  as  man;  and  I do  so  upon  the  authority  of 
Cicero,  whom  I think  I may  safely  take  for  a guide  as  to  the 
proper  use  of  a Latin  word.  For  in  his  book  on  The  Laws  he 
uses  reason  as  common  both  to  God  and  men,  and  he  says  that 
wisdom,  which  all  ascribe  to  God,  is  nothing  other  than  “reason 
in  perfection.”  I have  used  the  words  constitutes  the  happiest 
state  of  all,  to  intimate  that  benevolence  is  both  the  intrinsic  cause 
of  present,  and  the  efficient  cause  of  future  happiness,  and  is  a 
necessary  requisite  in  both.  I have  added  as  far  as  is  in  their 
power,  to  imply  that  the  assistance  of  things  external  is  often  not 
in  our  power,  although  they  are  requisite  to  the  happiness  of  the 
animal  life;  and  that  no  other  assistance  to  a happy  life  is  to  be 
expected  from  the  laws  of  nature  and  moral  philosophy  than 
precepts  about  our  actions,  and  concerning  those  objects  of  our 
actions  which  are  in  our  own  power.  Consequently  although  it 
happens  that  different  men,  according  to  their  different  abilities 
of  mind  and  body,  nay,  that  the  same  men,  in  different  circum- 
stances, are  not  equally  able  to  promote  the  public  good,  never- 
theless, the  law  of  nature  is  sufficiently  observed,  and  its  end 
obtained,  if  every  one  does  what  he  is  able  according  to  his 
present  circumstances. 

§ V.  I must  now  show,  both  how  the  ideas  contained  in 
the  foregoing  proposition  necessarily  enter  into  the  minds  of  men, 
and  how  they  are  necessarily  connected  when  they  are  there ; 
in  other  words,  how  they  make  a true  proposition,  which  we 


THE  LAWS  OF  NATURE 


251 


shall  afterwards  prove  to  be  practical,  and  to  have  the  force  of  a 
law.  It  is  well  known  by  the  experience  of  all  men  that  those 
ideas  or  thoughts  which  the  logicians  call  simple  apprehensions 
are  excited  in  two  ways  in  the  mind  of  man : First,  they  are 
caused  by  the  immediate  presence  of  the  object  and  the  impres- 
sion it  makes  upon  the  mind.  In  this  way  the  mind  becomes 
conscious  of  its  own  operations,  and  also  of  the  motions  of  the 
imagination,  or  of  the  objects  it  presents  to  us,  and  thus  by  an- 
alogy also  one  judges  of  what  passes  in  the  minds  of  other  ra- 
tional beings,  both  God  and  men.  Secondly,  they  are  occasioned 
by  means  of  our  external  senses,  nerves,  and  membranes,  and  in 
this  way  we  perceive  other  men,  and  the  rest  of  this  visible  world. 
Thus  it  is  apparent  that  the  terms  of  our  proposition  become 
known,  partly  by  internal,  partly  by  external  sensation.  But 
what  benevolence  is,  and  what  are  its  degrees,  and  consequently 
what  is  the  greatest  benevolence  of  each,  we  do  not  understand 
otherwise  than  by  the  mind  reflecting  upon  itself.  There  is  more- 
over need  of  no  other  aid,  for  such  is  the  constitution  of  the  mind 
that  it  cannot  but  be  thoroughly  sensible  of  its  own  actions  and 
affections,  as  these  things  are  the  most  intimately  united  with 
itself.  It  must  be  acknowledged,  however,  that  it  is  to  the  as- 
sistance of  our  outward  senses  that  w'e  owe  the  knowledge  of  the 
external  advantages  which  benevolence  distributes  amongst  all. 
In  the  same  manner  it  is  by  our  inward  sense  that  we  learn  the 
nature  of  reason,  and  in  consequence  thereby  apprehend  what 
is  meant  by  rational  agents  as  mentioned  in  the  subject  of  the 
proposition.  That  there  are  others  besides  ourselves  who  have 
the  use  of  reason,  we  gather  by  observations  made  by  our  external 
senses.  The  knowledge  of  the  causes  constituting  anything, 
whether  intrinsically,  or  in  the  way  of  an  efficient,  we  derive 
generally  by  the  assistance  of  our  outward  senses,  and  by  rea- 
soning founded  on  appearances.  The  inner  nature  of  our  soul, 
and  the  active  powers  by  which  it  determines  the  voluntary  mo- 
tions of  our  bodies  in  pursuit  of  apparent  good,  the  mind  itself 
perceives  partly  by  reflection  upon  itself,  and  partly  by  the  aid 
of  the  senses,  whereby  is  revealed  the  effects  consequent  upon 
the  command  of  our  will.  Lastly,  we  come  to  the  knowledge  of 


252 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 


the  state  of  men,  and  of  their  happiness,  in  the  same  way 
that,  as  we  have  hinted,  we  learn  their  nature,  and  that  of  those 
good  things  in  the  enjoyment  whereof  their  happiness  consists. 
For  the  state  of  things  adds  nothing  to  their  nature,  beyond  the 
notion  of  some  continuance.  And  a happy  state  is  so  called, 
from  the  possession  of  good  things,  both  very  many  and  very 
great. 

§ VI.  The  connexion  of  the  terms  of  this  proposition,  in  which 
its  necessary  truth  consists,  seems  to  me  very  evident.  It  can 
be  reduced  to  the  following  statement.  Benevolence  or  the  act 
of  the  will  by  which  we  prosecute  all  good  things  that  are  within 
our  power,  being  that  which  is  most  effectual  to  procure  the  en- 
joyment of  them  by  ourselves  and  other  rational  beings,  is  con- 
sequently the  most  that  men  can  effect,  in  order  that  they  them- 
selves and  others  may  most  happily  enjoy  them.  Or,  to  express 
the  same  thing  in  other  terms,  there  is  no  power  in  men  greater, 
by  which  they  may  procure  to  themselves  and  others  a collection 
of  all  good  things,  than  a will  to  pursue  every  one  his  own  hap- 
piness, together  with  the  happiness  of  others. 

From  these  statements,  what  is  first  obvious,  is  that  there  is 
no  power  in  men  greater  to  effect  anything  than  a will  determined 
to  exert  its  utmost  force. 

In  the  next  place,  it  is  also  most  evident  that  the  happiness 
of  each  particular  person,  for  example  of  Socrates  and  Plato, 
and  of  all  other  individuals,  mentioned  in  the  predicate,  cannot 
be  separated  or  regarded  as  distinct  from  that  happiness  of  all 
whereof  the  cause  is  contained  in  the  subject  of  the  same  propo- 
sition. This  is  true  because  the  whole  does  not  differ  from  all 
the  parts  taken  together.  This  proposition,  moreover,  concern- 
ing the  universal  benevolence,  is  to  be  regarded  as  in  agreement 
with  the  nature  of  laws.  It  declares,  not  what  any  one  person 
or  a few  ought  to  do  to  procure  their  own  happiness  without  re- 
gard to  that  of  others,  but  both  what  all  unitedly  can  do  in  order 
to  be  happy,  and  what  each  separately,  without  any  discord 
amongst  themselves,  may  do  in  order  to  obtain  that  common 
happiness  of  all  in  which  the  greatest  happiness  possible  to  each 
individual  is  contained,  and  whereby  it  is  most  effectually  pro- 


THE  LAWS  OF  NATURE 


253 


moted.  It  is  first  and  better  known  as  flowing  from  the  common 
and  essential  attributes  of  human  nature,  what  all  in  general  can 
or  cannot  do,  conducing  to  the  common  good,  than  what  any 
particular  person  can  do  in  certain  circumstances,  since  the  latter 
are  infinite  and  consequently  impossible  to  be  wholly  known  by 
any  man.  As,  several  armies  being  brought  into  the  field,  it  is 
better  known  that  they  cannot  all  get  the  victory,  than  it  is  which 
army  shall  overcome. 

Thirdly,  and  in  the  last  place,  one  or  a few  individuals  can 
neither  enjoy  a present  happiness,  or  with  probability  hope  for 
it  hereafter,  by  acting  without  any  regard,  or  in  opposition,  to  the 
happiness  of  all  other  rational  beings;  since  to  a mind  thus  af- 
fected an  essential  part  of  its  happiness  is  wanting,  that  is,  that 
inner  peace,  which  arises  from  an  uniform  wisdom  always  in 
accord  with  itself.  This  is  obvious  since  it  is  inconsistent  for  one 
to  determine  to  act  after  one  manner  in  relation  to  oneself,  and 
after  another  manner  in  relation  to  others  that  partake  of  the 
same  nature.  That  great  joy  is  also  lacking,  which  arises  in  a 
benevolent  disposition  from  a sense  of  the  felicity  of  others ; not 
to  speak  of  envy,  pride,  and  all  the  other  vices,  which  besiege  in 
legion  the  malevolent  and,  as  being  the  worst  distempers  of  the 
mind,  render  them  necessarily  miserable.  Besides,  no  person 
can  have  a well-grounded  hope  of  happiness  if  he  neglects,  nay 
provokes  to  his  ruin  other  reasonable  beings,  as  God  and  men, 
who  are  the  external  causes  of  his  happiness,  and  upon  whose 
aid  the  hope  of  it  thus  necessarily  depends.  There  is,  therefore, 
no  other  way,  by  which  the  individual  can  attain  to  his  owm 
happiness,  than  that  which  leads  to  the  common  happiness  of  all. 

§ VII.  I acknowledge,  however,  that  this  proposition  cannot 
be  made  efficacious  in  the  formation  of  any  man’s  habits,  before 
he  has  proposed  to  himself  as  his  end  the  effect  here  discussed, 
that  is,  his  owm  happiness  in  conjunction  with  that  of  others; 
and  has  taken  as  the  means  those  various  actions  that  are  em- 
braced in  the  exercise  of  benevolence.  Nevertheless,  the  general 
proposition,  and  all  those  which  may  be  justly  inferred  from  it, 
such  as  those  particular  propositions  which  declare  the  pow'ers 
of  fidelity,  gratitude,  natural  affection,  and  the  other  virtues,  in 


254 


RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 


obtaining  any  part  of  human  happiness,  may  be  proved  to  be 
necessarily  true  before  such  an  end  is  proposed.  For  the  whole 
truth,  as  well  of  that  general  proposition,  as  of  those  propositions 
which  are  deduced  from  it,  depends  solely  upon  the  natural  and 
necessary  efficacy  of  these  virtuous  actions  as  causes  to  produce 
such  effects.  It  is  not  necessary  to  presuppose  that  there  are  such 
actions,  indeed,  which  depend  upon  the  agency  of  free  causes. 
It  suffices  in  order  to  prove  these  propositions  as  true,  that, 
whenever  there  are  such  causes,  then  effects  of  such  a kind  in- 
evitably follow  from  them.  This  is  in  entire  agreement  with 
the  solution  of  all  kinds  of  mathematical  problems,  since 
in  regard  to  them  no  one  questions  but  that  we  can  attain 
true  demonstrations.  Every  one  knows  that  the  drawing  of 
lines  and  the  comparison  of  them  in  geometrical  calculation, 
depends  upon  the  free  will  of  men.  We  add,  subtract,  etc.,  as 
a matter  of  freedom,  but  yet  whoever  performs  these  operations 
according  to  the  rules  prescribed,  must  of  necessity  find  out  the 
true  sum,  which  is  equal  to  all  the  parts  added.  The  same  thing 
may  be  said  of  the  remainder  in  subtraction,  the  product  in 
multiplication,  the  quotient  in  division,  and  the  root  in  extrac- 
tions. And,  in  general,  in  every  question  the  solution  of  which  is 
possible  from  what  is  given,  the  answer  is  necessarily  found 
from  the  operations  when  duly  performed.  The  connexion  is 
necessary  between  the  effect  desired  and  the  causes  assigned, 
as  this  science  reveals  to  us.  According  to  this  pattern  other 
practical  arts  are  to  be  modelled,  and  this  it  is  we  have  endeav- 
ored to  attain  in  the  explication  of  the  principles  of  morality, 
by  reducing  to  one  general  term  benevolence  all  those  volun- 
tary actions  which  fall  under  the  direction  of  moral  philosophy, 
by  inquiring  as  to  its  different  branches,  and,  lastly,  by  showing 
the  connexion  between  the  act  and  the  end  designed. 

§ VIII.  But  seeing  that  only  voluntary  actions  can  be  gov- 
erned by  human  reason,  and  that  those  only  which  have  regard 
to  intelligent  beings  are  considered  in  morality,  and  seeing  that 
the  object  of  the  will  is  good  (for  evil  is  regarded  as  the  privation 
of  some  good),  it  is  evident,  that  a more  general  notion  of  such 


THE  LAWS  OF  NATURE 


255 


actions  cannot  be  formed  than  what  comes  under  the  name  of 
benevolence,  inasmuch  as  this  comprehends  the  desire  of  all  kinds 
of  good  things,  and  consequently  the  avoidance  of  all  kinds  of 
evils.  But  moreover,  the  force  of  this  benevolence  extends  itself 
to  all  those  free  acts  of  the  understanding  by  which  we  consider 
or  compare  among  themselves,  the  divers  good  things  or  inquire 
concerning  the  means  of  obtaining  them,  and  also  likewise  to 
those  acts  of  our  bodily  faculties,  which  are  directed  by  our  will 
in  the  pursuit  of  good.  Now  it  is  universally  true,  that  the  mo- 
tion of  a point  does  not  more  certainly  produce  a line,  or  the 
addition  of  numbers  a sum,  than  that  benevolence  produces  a 
good  effect  to  the  person  to  whom  we  wish  well,  proportioned  to 
the  power  and  degree  of  affection  of  the  agent  in  the  given  cir- 
cumstances. It  is  also  certain  that  keeping  faith,  gratitude, 
natural  affection,  etc.  are  component  parts  of  a benevolence 
the  most  effective,  towards  all,  or  of  the  modes  of  its  exercise  in 
particular  circumstances,  and  that  they  must  inevitably  produce 
their  good  effect.  This  is  true  in  precisely  the  same  manner,  as 
it  is  certain,  that  addition,  subtraction,  multiplication,  and  di- 
vision, are  parts  and  modes  of  calculation;  and  that  a right  line, 
circle,  parabola,  and  other  curves,  express  the  diverse  effects, 
which  geometry  produces  by  the  motion  of  a point.  . . . 

§ IX.  Furthermore,  the  nature  of  things  instructs  us  that  we 
must  first  distinctly  know  what  is  the  best  effect  within  our 
power,  before  we  can  clearly  apprehend  the  chief  end  we  ought 
to  propose.  For  the  answer  to  the  former  question  consists  of 
more  simple  terms,  and  is  consequently  of  more  certain  signi- 
fication. The  answer  to  the  latter  question  ought  to  contain  all 
that  is  in  the  former,  and  moreover  signifies,  that  the  rational 
agent  has  personally  determined  to  use  the  means  proper  to 
produce  that  effect.  But  owing  to  the  consideration  that  many 
effects  tending  to  the  common  good  are  within  our  power,  and 
that  by  the  will  of  the  first  cause,  they  have  been  made  necessary 
to  the  attainment  of  our  own  happiness,  there  arises  both  an  ob- 
ligation to  propose  the  production  of  such  effects,  and  also  the 
actual  intention  itself,  whenever  found  in  men.  We  must  of 


256  RICHARD  CUMBERLAND 

necessity  therefore  lay  the  foundation  of  the  laws  of  nature  in 
those  manifest  observations  of  the  powers  of  men  by  which, 
duly  regulated,  they  are  enabled  to  make  each  other  happy,  nay 
will  certainly  do  so.  But  these  laws  are  all  summed  up  in 
benevolence  or  universal  love. 


BARUCH  DE  SPINOZA 

( 1632-1677) 

THE  ETHICS 


Translated from  the  Latin  * by 
R.  H.  M.  ELWES 

PART  I.  CONCERNING  GOD 
Definitions 

I.  By  that  which  is  self -caused,  I mean  that  of  which  the  essence 
involves  existence,  or  that  of  which  the  nature  is  only  conceivable 
as  existent. 

II.  A thing  is  called  finite  after  its  kind,  when  it  can  be  limited 
by  another  thing  of  the  same  nature;  for  instance,  a body  is 
called  finite  because  we  always  conceive  another  greater  body. 
So,  also,  a thought  is  limited  by  another  thought,  but  a body  is 
not  limited  by  thought,  nor  a thought  by  body. 

III.  By  substance,  I mean  that  which  is  in  itself,  and  is  con- 
ceived through  itself ; in  other  words,  that  of  which  a conception 
can  be  formed  independently  of  any  other  conception. 

IV.  By  attribute,  I mean  that  which  the  intellect  perceives  as 
constituting  the  essence  of  substance. 

V.  By  mode,  I mean  the  modifications  of  substance,  or  that 
which  exists  in,  and  is  conceived  through,  something  other  than 
itself. 

VI.  By  God,  I mean  a being  absolutely  infinite  — that  is,  a 
substance  consisting  in  infinite  attributes,  of  which  each  ex- 
presses eternal  and  infinite  essentiality. 

Explanation.  — I say  absolutely  infinite,  not  infinite  after  its 
kind : for,  of  a thing  infinite  only  after  its  kind,  infinite  attributes 

* Opera  posthuma,  Amsterdam,  1677;  Opera,  ed.  C.  H.  Bruder,  Leipzig, 
1843-46  {Ethica  ordine  geometrica  demonstrata,  vol.  i.  pp.  143-416).  Reprinted 
here  from  Spinoza's  Works,  translated  by  R.  H.  M.  Elwes.  London,  George 
Bell  and  Sons,  1884;  rev.  ed.,  1906. 


BARUCH  DE  SPINOZA 


258 

may  be  denied;  but  that  which  is  absolutely  infinite,  contains  in 
its  essence  whatever  expresses  reality,  and  involves  no  negation. 

VII.  That  thing  is  called  free,  which  exists  solely  by  the  ne- 
cessity of  its  own  nature,  and  of  which  the  action  is  determined 
by  itself  alone.  On  the  other  hand,  that  thing  is  necessary,  or 
rather  constrained,  which  is  determined  by  something  external 
to  itself  to  a fixed  and  definite  method  of  existence  or  action. 

VIII.  By  eternity,  I mean  existence  itself,  in  so  far  as  it  is 
conceived  necessarily  to  follow  solely  from  the  definition  of  that 
which  is  eternal. 

Explanation.  — Existence  of  this  kind  is  conceived  as  an 
eternal  truth,  like  the  essence  of  a thing,  and,  therefore,  cannot 
be  explained  by  means  of  continuance  or  time,  though  continu- 
ance may  be  conceived  without  a beginning  or  end. 

Axioms 

I.  Everything  which  exists,  exists  either  in  itself  or  in  some- 
thing else. 

II.  That  which  cannot  be  conceived  through  anything  else 
must  be  conceived  through  itself. 

III.  From  a given  definite  cause  an  effect  necessarily  follows; 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  if  no  definite  cause  be  granted,  it  is  im- 
possible that  an  effect  can  follow. 

IV.  The  knowledge  of  an  effect  depends  on  and  involves  the 
knowledge  of  a cause. 

V.  Things  which  have  nothing  in  common  cannot  be  under- 
stood, the  one  by  means  of  the  other;  the  conception  of  one  does 
not  involve  the  conception  of  the  other. 

VI.  A true  idea  must  correspond  with  its  ideate  or  object. 

VII.  If  a thing  can  be  conceived  as  non-existing,  its  essence 
does  not  involve  existence. 

Propositions 

Prop.  I.  Substance  is  by  nature  prior  to  its  modifications. 

Proof.  — This  is  clear  from  Defs.  iii.  and  v. 

Prop.  II.  Two  substances,  whose  attributes  are  different,  have 
nothing  in  common. 


THE  ETHICS 


259 


Proof.  — Also  evident  from  Def.  iii.  For  each  must  exist  in 
itself,  and  be  conceived  through  itself ; in  other  words,  the  con- 
ception of  one  does  not  imply  the  conception  of  the  other. 

Prop.  III.  Things  which  have  nothing  in  common  cannot  be 
one  the  cause  of  the  other. 

Proof.  — If  they  have  nothing  in  common,  it  follows  that  one 
cannot  be  apprehended  by  means  of  the  other  (Ax.  v.),  and, 
therefore,  one  cannot  be  the  cause  of  the  other  (Ax.  iv.).  Q.  E.  D. 

Prop.  IV.  Two  or  more  distinct  things  are  distinguished  one 
from  the  other,  either  by  the  difference  of  the  attributes  of  the  sub- 
stances, or  by  the  difference  of  their  modifications. 

Proof.  — Everything  which  exists,  exists  either  in  itself  or  in 
something  else  (Ax.  i.),  — that  is  (by  Defs.  iii.  and  v.),  nothing 
is  granted  in  addition  to  the  understanding,  except  substance 
and  its  modifications.  Nothing  is,  therefore,  given  besides  the 
understanding,  by  which  several  things  may  be  distinguished 
one  from  the  other,  except  the  substances,  or,  in  other  words 
(see  Ax.  iv.),  their  attributes  and  modifications.  Q.  E.  D. 

Prop.  V.  There  cannot  exist  in  the  universe  two  or  more  sub- 
stances having  the  same  nature  or  attribute. 

Proof.  — If  several  distinct  substances  be  granted,  they  must 
be  distinguished  one  from  the  other,  either  by  the  difference  of 
their  attributes,  or  by  the  difference  of  their  modifications  (Prop, 
iv.).  If  only  by  the  difference  of  their  attributes,  it  wdll  be  granted 
that  there  cannot  be  more  than  one  with  an  identical  attribute. 
If  by  the  difference  of  their  modifications,  — as  substance  is 
naturally  prior  to  its  modifications  (Prop,  i.),  — it  follows  that 
setting  the  modifications  aside,  and  considering  substance  in 
itself,  that  is  truly  (Defs.  iii.  and  vi.),  there  cannot  be  conceived 
one  substance  different  from  another,  — that  is  (by  Prop,  iv.), 
there  cannot  be  granted  several  substances,  but  one  substance 
only.  Q.  E.  D. 

Prop.  VI.  One  substance  cannot  be  produced  by  another  sub- 
stance. 

Proof.  — It  is  impossible  that  there  should  be  in  the  universe 
two  substances  with  an  identical  attribute,  i.  e.  which  have  any- 
thing common  to  them  both  (Prop,  i!.),  and,  therefore  (Prop. 


26o 


BARUCH  DE  SPINOZA 


iii.),  one  cannot  be  the  cause  of  another,  neither  can  one  be  pro- 
duced by  the  other.  Q.  E.  D. 

Corollary.  — Hence  it  follows  that  a substance  cannot  be  pro- 
duced by  anything  external  to  itself.  For  in  the  universe  nothing 
is  granted,  save  substances  and  their  modifications  (as  appears 
from  Ax.  i.  and  Defs.  iii.  and  v.).  Now  (by  the  last  Prop.)  sub- 
stance cannot  be  produced  by  another  slibstance,  therefore  it 
cannot  be  produced  by  anything  external  to  itself.  Q.  E.  D. 
This  is  shown  still  more  readily  by  the  absurdity  of  the  contra- 
dictory. For,  if  substance  be  produced  by  an  external  cause,  the 
knowledge  of  it  would  depend  on  the  knowledge  of  its  cause 
(Ax.  iv.),  and  (by  Def.  iii.)  it  would  itself  not  be  substance. 

Prop.  VII.  Existence  belongs  to  the  nature  of  substance. 

Proof.  — Substance  cannot  be  produced  by  anything  external 
(Corollary,  Prop,  vi.),  it  must,  therefore,  be  its  own  cause  — 
that  is,  its  essence  necessarily  involves  existence,  or  existence 
belongs  to  its  nature. 

Prop.  VIII.  Every  substance  is  necessarily  infinite. 

Proof.  — There  can  only  be  one  substance  with  an  identical 
attribute,  and  existence  follows  from  its  nature  (Prop,  vii.) ; its 
nature,  therefore,  involves  existence,  either  as  finite  or  infinite. 
It  does  not  exist  as  finite,  for  (by  Def.  ii.)  it  would  then  be 
limited  by  something  else  of  the  same  kind,  which  would  also 
necessarily  exist  (Prop,  vii.) ; and  there  would  be  two  substances 
with  an  identical  attribute,  which  is  absurd  (Prop.  v.).  It  there- 
fore exists  as  infinite.  Q.  E.  D. 

Note  I.  — As  finite  existence  involves  a partial  negation,  and 
infinite  existence  is  the  absolute  affirmation  of  the  given  nature, 
it  follows  (solely  from  Prop,  vii.)  that  every  substance  is  neces- 
sarily infinite. 

Prop.  XVI.  From  the  necessity  of  the  divine  nature  must  fol- 
low an  infinite  number  of  things  in  infinite  ways  — that  is,  all 
things  which  can  fall  within  the  sphere  of  infinite  intellect. 

Proof.  — This  proposition  will  be  clear  to  everyone  who 
remembers  that  from  the  given  definition  of  any  thing  the  intel- 
lect infers  several  properties,  which  really  necessarily  follow 


THE  ETHICS 


261 

therefrom  (that  is,  from  the  actual  essence  of  the  thing  de- 
fined) ; and  it  infers  more  properties  in  proportion  as  the  defini- 
tion of  the  thing  expresses  more  reality,  that  is,  in  proportion  as 
the  essence  of  the  thing  defined  involves  more  reality.  Now,  as 
the  divine  nature  has  absolutely  infinite  attributes  (by  Def.  vi.), 
of  which  each  expresses  infinite  essence  after  its  kind,  it  follows 
that  from  the  necessity  of  its  nature  an  infinite  number  of  things 
(that  is,  everything  which  can  fall  within  the  sphere  of  an  infinite 
intellect)  must  necessarily  follow.  Q.  E.  D. 

Corollary  I.  — Hence  it  follows,  that  God  is  the  efficient  cause 
of  all  that  can  fall  within  the  sphere  of  an  infinite  intellect. 

Corollary  II.  — It  also  follows  that  God  is  a cause  in  himself, 
and  not  through  an  accident  of  his  nature. 

Corollary  III.  — It  follows,  thirdly,  that  God  is  the  absolutely 
first  cause. 

Prop.  XVII.  God  acts  solely  by  the  laws  of  his  own  nature, 
and  is  not  constrained  by  anyone. 

Proof.  — We  have  just  shown  (in  Prop,  xvi.),  that  solely  from 
the  necessity  of  the  divine  nature,  or,  what  is  the  same  thing, 
solely  from  the  lavv^s  of  his  nature,  an  infinite  number  of  things 
absolutely  follow  in  an  infinite  number  of  ways;  and  w'e  proved 
(in  Prop.  XV.)  that  without  God  nothing  can  be  nor  be  con- 
ceived; but  that  all  things  are  in  God.  Wherefore  nothing  can 
exist  outside  himself,  whereby  he  can  be  conditioned  or  con- 
strained to  act.  Wherefore  God  acts  solely  by  the  laws  of  his 
own  nature,  and  is  not  constrained  by  anyone.  Q.  E.  D. 

Corollary  I.  — It  follows;  i.  That  there  can  be  no  cause 
which,  either  extrinsically  or  intrinsically,  besides  the  perfection 
of  his  own  nature,  moves  God  to  act. 

Corollary  //.  — It  follow's;  2.  That  God  is  the  sole  free 
cause.  For  God  alone  exists  by  the  sole  necessity  of  his  nature 
(by  Prop.  xi.  and  Prop.  xiv.  Coroll,  i.),  and  acts  by  the  sole 
necessity  of  his  nature,  wherefore  God  is  (by  Def.  vii.)  the  sole 
free  cause.  Q.  E.  D. 

Note.  — Others  think  that  God  is  a free  cause,  because  he  can, 
as  they  think,  bring  it  about,  that  those  things  which  we  have 
said  follow  from  his  nature  — that  is,  which  are  in  his  power. 


262 


BARUCH  DE  SPINOZA 


should  not  come  to  pass,  or  should  not  be  produced  by  him. 
But  this  is  the  same  as  if  they  said,  that  God  could  bring  it  about 
that  it  should  not  follow  from  the  nature  of  a triangle,  that  its 
three  interior  angles  should  be  equal  to  two  right  angles ; or  that 
from  a given  cause  no  effect  should  follow,  which  is  absurd. 

Prop.  XVIII.  God  is  the  indwelling  and  not  the  transient 
cause  of  all  things. 

Proof.  — All  things  which  are,  are  in  God,  and  must  be  con- 
ceived through  God  (by  Prop,  xv.),  therefore  (by  Prop.  xvi. 
Coroll,  i.)  God  is  the  cause  of  those  things  which  are  in  him. 
This  is  our  first  point.  Further,  besides  God  there  can  be  no 
substance  (by  Prop,  xiv.) , that  is  nothing  in  itself  external  to  God. 
This  is  our  second  point.  God,  therefore,  is  the  indwelling  and 
not  the  transient  cause  of  all  things.  Q.  E.  D. 

Prop.  XXIX.  Nothing  in  the  universe  is  contingent,  hut  all 
things  are  conditioned  to  exist  and  operate  in  a particular  manner 
by  the  necessity  of  the  divine  nature. 

Proof.  — Whatsoever  is,  is  in  God  (Prop.  xv.).  But  God  can- 
not be  called  a thing  contingent.  For  (by  Prop,  xi.)  he  exists 
necessarily,  and  not  contingently.  Further,  the  modes  of  the 
divine  nature  follow  therefrom  necessarily,  and  not  contingently 
(Prop,  xvi.) ; and  they  thus  follow,  whether  we  consider  the  di- 
vine nature  absolutely,  or  whether  we  consider  it  as  in  any  way 
conditioned  to  act  (Prop,  xxvii.).  Further,  God  is  not  only  the 
cause  of  these  modes,  in  so  far  as  they  simply  exist  (by  Prop, 
xxiv..  Coroll.),  but  also  in  so  far  as  they  are  considered  as  condi- 
tioned for  operating  in  a particular  manner  (Prop.  xxvi.).  If 
they  be  not  conditioned  by  God  (Prop,  xxvi.),  it  is  impossible, 
and  not  contingent,  that  they  should  condition  themselves;  con- 
trariwise, if  they  be  conditioned  by  God,  it  is  impossible,  and  not 
contingent,  that  they  should  render  themselves  unconditioned. 
Wherefore  all  things  are  conditioned  by  the  necessity  of  the 
divine  nature,  not  only  to  exist,  but  also  to  exist  and  operate  in 
a particular  manner,  and  there  is  nothing  that  is  contingent. 
Q.  E.  D. 

Note.  — Before  going  any  further,  I wish  here  to  explain, 


THE  ETHICS 


263 

what  we  should  understand  by  nature  viewed  as  active  [natura 
naiurans),  and  nature  viewed  as  passive  {natura  naturata).  I 
say  to  explain,  or  rather  call  attention  to  it,  for  I think  that,  from 
what  has  been  said,  it  is  sufficiently  clear,  that  by  nature  viewed 
as  active  we  should  understand  that  which  is  in  itself,  and  is 
conceived  through  itself,  or  those  attributes  of  substance,  which 
express  eternal  and  infinite  essence,  in  other  words  (Prop.  xiv. 
Coroll,  i.,  and  Prop.  xvii.  Coroll,  ii.)  God,  in  so  far  as  he  is 
considered  as  a free  cause. 

By  nature  viewed  as  passive  I understand  all  that  which  fol- 
lows from  the  necessity  of  the  nature  of  God,  or  of  any  of  the 
attributes  of  God,  that  is,  all  the  modes  of  the  attributes  of  God, 
in  so  far  as  they  are  considered  as  things  which  are  in  God,  and 
which  without  God  cannot  exist  or  be  conceived. 

Prop.  XXXII.  Will  cannot  be  called  a free  cause,  hut  only  a 
necessary  cause. 

Proof.  — Will  is  only  a particular  mode  of  thinking,  like  in- 
tellect ; therefore  (by  Prop,  xxviii.)  no  volition  can  exist,  nor  be 
conditioned  to  act,  unless  it  be  conditioned  by  some  cause  other 
than  itself,  which  cause  is  conditioned  by  a third  cause,  and  so  on 
to  infinity.  But  if  will  be  supposed  infinite,  it  must  also  be  con- 
ditioned to  exist  and  act  by  God,  not  by  virtue  of  his  being 
substance  absolutely  infinite,  but  by  virtue  of  his  possessing 
an  attribute  which  expresses  the  infinite  and  eternal  essence 
of  thought  (by  Prop,  xxiii.).  Thus,  however  it  be  conceived, 
whether  as  finite  or  infinite,  it  requires  a cause  by  which  it  should 
be  conditioned  to  exist  and  act.  Thus  (Def.  vii.)  it  cannot  be 
called  a free  cause,  but  only  a necessary  or  constrained  cause. 
Q.  E.  D. 

Corollary  I.  — Hence  it  follows,  first,  that  God  does  not  act 
according  to  freedom  of  the  will. 

Corollary  II.  — It  follows,  secondly,  that  will  and  intellect 
stand  in  the  same  relation  to  the  nature  of  God  as  do  motion, 
and  rest,  and  absolutely  all  natural  phenomena,  which  must  be 
conditioned  by  God  (Prop,  xxix.)  to  exist  and  act  in  a particular 
manner.  For  will,  like  the  rest,  stands  in  need  of  a cause,  by 
which  it  is  conditioned  to  exist  and  act  in  a particular  manner. 


BARUCH  DE  SPINOZA 


264 

And  although,  when  will  or  intellect  be  granted,  an  infinite  num- 
ber of  results  may  follow,  yet  God  cannot  on  that  account  be  said 
to  act  from  freedom  of  the  will,  any  more  than  the  infinite  num- 
ber of  results  from  motion  and  rest  would  justify  us  in  saying  that 
motion  and  rest  act  by  free  will.  Wherefore  will  no  more  apper- 
tains to  God  than  does  anything  else  in  nature,  but  stands  in  the 
same  relation  to  him  as  motion,  rest,  and  the  like,  which  we  have 
shown  to  follow  from  the  necessity  of  the  divine  nature,  and  to 
be  conditioned  by  it  to  exist  and  act  in  a particular  manner. 

Prop.  XXXIII.  Things  could  not  have  been  brought  into 
being  by  God  in  any  manner  or  in  any  order  different  from  that 
which  has  in  fact  obtained. 

Proof.  — All  things  necessarily  follow  from  the  nature  of  God 
(Prop,  xvi.),  and  by  the  nature  of  God  are  conditioned  to  exist 
and  act  in  a particular  way  (Prop,  xxix.) . If  things,  therefore, 
could  have  been  of  a different  nature,  or  have  been  conditioned 
to  act  in  a different  way,  so  that  the  order  of  nature  would  have 
been  different,  God’s  nature  would  also  have  been  able  to  be 
different  from  what  it  now  is;  and  therefore  (by  Prop,  xi.)  that 
different  nature  also  would  have  perforce  existed,  and  conse- 
quently there  would  have  been  able  to  be  two  or  more  Gods. 
This  (by  Prop.  xiv.  Coroll,  i.)  is  absurd.  Therefore  things  could 
not  have  been  brought  into  being  by  God  in  any  other  manner, 
&c.  Q.  E.  D. 

Note  I.  — As  I have  thus  shown,  more  clearly  than  the  sun 
at  noonday,  that  there  is  nothing  to  justify  us  in  calling  things 
contingent,  I wish  to  explain  briefly  what  meaning  we  shall  at- 
tach to  the  word  contingent;  but  I will  first  explain  the  words 
necessary  and  impossible. 

A thing  is  called  necessary  either  in  respect  to  its  essence  or 
in  respect  to  its  cause;  for  the  existence  of  a thing  necessarily 
follows,  either  from  its  essence  and  definition,  or  from  a given 
efficient  cause.  For  similar  reasons  a thing  is  said  to  be  impos- 
sible; namely,  inasmuch  as  its  essence  or  definition  involves  a 
contradiction,  or  because  no  external  cause  is  granted,  which 
is  conditioned  to  produce  such  an  effect ; but  a thing  can  in  no 
respect  be  called  contingent,  save  in  relation  to  the  imperfection 
of  our  knowledge. 


THE  ETHICS 


265 

A thing  of  which  we  do  not  know  whether  the  essence  does  or 
does  not  involve  a contradiction,  or  of  which,  knowing  that  it 
does  not  involve  a contradiction,  we  are  still  in  doubt  concerning 
the  existence,  because  the  order  of  causes  escapes  us  — such  a 
thing,  I say,  cannot  appear  to  us  either  necessary  or  impossible. 
Wherefore  we  call  it  contingent  or  possible. 


Prop.  XXXIV.  God’s  power  is  identical  with  his  essence. 

Proof.  — From  the  sole  necessity  of  the  essence  of  God  it 
follows  that  God  is  the  cause  of  himself  (Prop,  xi.)  and  of  all 
things  (Prop.  xvi.  and  Coroll.).  Wherefore  the  power  of  God, 
by  which  he  and  all  things  are  and  act,  is  identical  with  his 
essence.  Q.  E.  D. 

Prop.  XXXV.  Whatsoever  we  conceive  to  be  in  the  power  of 
God,  necessarily  exists. 

Proof.  — Whatsoever  is  in  God’s  power,  must  (by  the  last 
Prop.)  be  comprehended  in  his  essence  in  such  a manner,  that 
it  necessarily  follows  therefrom,  and  therefore  necessarily  exists. 
Q.  E.  D. 

Prop.  XXXVI.  There  is  no  cause  from  whose  nature  some 
effect  does  not  follow. 

Proof.  — Whatsoever  exists  expresses  God’s  nature  or  es- 
sence in  a given  conditioned  manner  (by  Prop.  xxv.  Coroll.) ; that 
is  (by  Prop,  xxxiv.),  whatsoever  exists,  expresses  in  a given  con- 
ditioned manner  God’s  power,  which  is  the  cause  of  all  things, 
therefore  an  effect  must  (by  Prop,  xvi.)  necessarily  follow.  Q. 
E.  D. 

Appendix.  — In  the  foregoing  I have  explained  the  nature 
and  properties  of  God.  I have  shown  that  he  necessarily  exists, 
that  he  is  one:  that  he  is,  and  acts  solely  by  the  necessity  of  h’s 
own  nature;  that  he  is  the  free  cause  of  all  things,  and  how  he  is 
so ; that  all  things  are  in  God,  and  so  depend  on  him,  that  without 
him  they  could  neither  exist  nor  be  conceived;  lastly,  that  all 
things  are  predetermined  by  God,  not  through  his  free  will  or 
absolute  fiat,  but  from  the  very  nature  of  God  or  infinite  power. 
I have  further,  where  occasion  offered,  taken  care  to  remove 


266 


BARUCH  DE  SPINOZA 


the  prejudices,  which  might  impede  the  comprehension  of  my 
demonstrations.  Yet  there  still  remain  misconceptions  not  a few, 
which  might  and  may  prove  very  grave  hindrances  to  the  under- 
standing of  the  concatenation  of  things,  as  I have  explained  it 
above.  I have  therefore  thought  it  worth  while  to  bring  these 
misconceptions  before  the  bar  of  reason. 

All  such  opinions  spring  from  the  notion  commonly  enter- 
tained, that  all  things  in  nature  act  as  men  themselves  act, 
namely,  with  an  end  in  view.  It  is  accepted  as  certain,  that  God 
himself  directs  all  things  to  a definite  goal  (for  it  is  said  that  God 
made  all  things  for  man,  and  man  that  he  might  worship  him). 
I will,  therefore,  consider  this  opinion,  asking  first  why  it  ob- 
tains general  credence,  and  why  all  men  are  naturally  so  prone 
to  adopt  it  ? secondly,  I will  point  out  its  falsity ; and,  lastly,  I 
will  show  how  it  has  given  rise  to  prejudices  about  good  and  bad, 
right  and  wrong,  praise  and  blame,  order  and  confusion,  beauty 
and  ugliness,  and  the  like.  However,  this  is  not  the  place  to  de- 
duce these  misconceptions  from  the  nature  of  the  human  mind : 
it  will  be  sufficient  here,  if  I assume  as  a starting  point,  what 
ought  to  be  universally  admitted,  namely,  that  all  men  are  born 
ignorant  of  the  causes  of  things,  that  all  have  the  desire  to  seek 
for  what  is  useful  to  them,  and  that  they  are  conscious  of  such 
desire.  Herefrom  it  follows,  first,  that  men  think  themselves 
free  inasmuch  as  they  are  conscious  of  their  volitions  and  de- 
sires, and  never  even  dream,  in  their  ignorance,  of  the  causes 
which  have  disposed  them  so  to  wish  and  desire.  Secondly,  that 
men  do  all  things  for  an  end,  namely,  for  that  which  is  useful 
to  them,  and  which  they  seek.  Thus  it  comes  to  pass  that  they 
only  look  for  a knowledge  of  the  final  causes  of  events,  and  when 
these  are  learned,  they  are  content,  as  having  no  cause  for  further 
doubt.  If  they  cannot  learn  such  causes  from  external  sources, 
they  are  compelled  to  turn  to  considering  themselves,  and  reflect- 
ing what  end  would  have  induced  them  personally  to  bring  about 
the  given  event,  and  thus  they  necessarily  judge  other  natures  by 
their  own.  Further,  as  they  find  in  themselves  and  outside  them- 
selves many  means  which  assist  them  not  a little  in  their  search 
for  what  is  useful,  for  instance,  eyes  for  seeing,  teeth  for  chewing, 


THE  ETHICS 


267 

herbs  and  animals  for  yielding  food,  the  sun  for  giving  light,  the 
sea  for  breeding  fish,  &c.,  they  come  to  look  on  the  whole  of 
nature  as  a means  for  obtaining  such  conveniences.  Now  as  they 
are  aware,  that  they  found  these  conveniences  and  did  not  make 
them,  they  think  they  have  cause  for  believing,  that  some  other 
being  has  made  them  for  their  use.  As  they  look  upon  things  as 
means,  they  cannot  believe  them  to  be  self-created;  but,  judging 
from  the  means  which  they  are  accustomed  to  prepare  for  them- 
selves, they  are  bound  to  believe  in  some  ruler  or  rulers  of  the 
universe  endowed  with  human  freedom,  who  have  arranged  and 
adapted  everything  for  human  use.  They  are  bound  to  estimate 
the  nature  of  such  rulers  (having  no  information  on  the  subject) 
in  accordance  with  their  own  nature,  and  therefore  they  assert 
that  the  gods  ordained  everything  for  the  use  of  man,  in  order 
to  bind  man  to  themselves  and  obtain  from  him  the  highest 
honour.  Hence  also  it  follows,  that  everyone  thought  out  for 
himself,  according  to  his  abilities,  a different  way  of  worshipping 
God,  so  that  God  might  love  him  more  than  his  fellows,  and 
direct  the  whole  course  of  nature  for  the  satisfaction  of  his  blind 
cupidity  and  insatiable  avarice.  Thus  the  prejudice  developed 
into  superstition,  and  took  deep  root  in  the  human  mind;  and 
for  this  reason  everyone  strove  most  zealously  to  understand 
and  explain  the  final  causes  of  things;  but  in  their  endeavour 
to  show  that  nature  does  nothing  in  vain,  i.  e.,  nothing  which  is 
useless  to  man,  they  only  seem  to  have  demonstrated  that  nature, 
the  gods,  and  men  are  all  mad  together.  Consider,  I pray  you, 
the  result : among  the  many  helps  of  nature  they  were  bound  to 
find  some  hindrances,  such  as  storms,  earthquakes,  diseases, 
&c. : so  they  declared  that  such  things  happen,  because  the  gods 
are  angry  qt  some  wrong  done  them  by  men,  or  at  some  fault 
committed  in  their  worship.  Experience  day  by  day  protested 
and  showed  by  infinite  examples,  that  good  and  evil  fortunes  fall 
to  the  lot  of  pious  and  impious  alike;  still  they  would  not  abandon 
their  inveterate  prejudice,  for  it  was  more  easy  for  them  to  class 
such  contradictions  among  other  unknown  things  of  whose  use 
they  were  ignorant,  and  thus  to  retain  their  actual  and  innate 
condition  of  ignorance,  than  to  destroy  the  whole  fabric  of  their 


268 


BARUCH  DE  SPINOZA 


reasoning  and  start  afresh.  They  therefore  laid  down  as  an 
axiom,  that  God’s  judgments  far  transcend  human  understand- 
ing. Such  a doctrine  might  well  have  sufficed  to  conceal  the 
truth  from  the  human  race  for  all  eternity,  if  mathematics  had 
not  furnished  another  standard  of  verity  in  considering  solely 
the  essence  and  properties  of  figures  without  regard  to  their  final 
causes.  There  are  other  reasons  (which  I need  not  mention  here) 
besides  mathematics,  which  might  have  caused  men’s  minds  to 
be  directed  to  these  general  prejudices,  and  have  led  them  to  the 
knowledge  of  the  truth. 

I have  now  sufficiently  explained  my  first  point.  There  is  no 
need  to  show  at  length,  that  nature  has  no  particular  goal  in 
view,  and  that  final  causes  are  mere  human  figments.  This,  1 
think,  is  already  evident  enough,  both  from  the  causes  and  foun- 
dations on  which  I have  shown  such  prejudice  to  be  based,  and 
also  from  Prop,  xvi.,  and  the  Corollary  of  Prop,  xxxii.,  and,  in 
fact,  all  those  propositions  in  which  I have  shown,  that  every- 
thing in  nature  proceeds  from  a sort  of  necessity,  and  with  the 
utmost  perfection.  . . . 


PART  II.  OF  THE  NATURE  AND  ORIGIN  OF  THE 

MIND 

Preface 

I now  pass  on  to  explaining  the  results,  which  must  necessarily 
follow  from  the  essence  of  God,  or  of  the  eternal  and  infinite  be- 
ing; not,  indeed,  all  of  them  (for  we  proved  in  Part  i..  Prop,  xvi., 
that  an  infinite  number  must  follow  in  an  infinite  number  of 
ways'',  but  only  those  which  are  able  to  lead  us,  as.it  were  by 
the  hand,  to  the  knowledge  of  the  human  mind  and  its  highest 
blessedness. 

Definitions 

I.  By  body  I mean  a mode  which  expresses  in  a certain  de- 
terminate manner  the  essence  of  God,  in  so  far  as  he  is  consid- 
ered as  an  extended  thing.  (See  Pt.  i.  Prop.  xxv.  Coroll.) 


THE  ETHICS 


269 

II.  I consider  as  belonging  to  the  essence  of  a thing  that, 
which  being  given,  the  thing  is  necessarily  given  also,  and,  which 
being  removed,  the  thing  is  necessarily  removed  also;  in  other 
words,  that  without  which  the  thing,  and  which  itself  without 
the  thing,  can  neither  be  nor  be  conceived. 

III.  By  idea,  I mean  the  mental  conception  which  is  formed 
by  the  mind  as  a thinking  thing. 

Explanation.  — I say  conception  rather  than  perception, 
because  the  word  perception  seems  to  imply  that  the  mind  is 
passive  in  respect  to  the  object;  whereas  conception  seems  to 
express  an  activity  of  the  mind. 

IV.  By  an  adequate  idea,  I mean  an  idea  which,  in  so  far  as 
it  is  considered  in  itself,  without  relation  to  the  object,  has  all 
the  properties  or  intrinsic  marks  of  a true  idea. 

Explanation.  — I say  intrinsic,  in  order  to  exclude  that  mark 
which  is  extrinsic,  namely,  the  agreement  between  the  idea  and 
its  object  (ideatum). 

V.  Duration  is  the  indefinite  continuance  of  existing. 

Explanation.  — I say  indefinite,  because  it  cannot  be  deter- 
mined through  the  existence  itself  of  the  existing  thing,  or  by 
its  efficient  cause,  which  necessarily  gives  the  existence  of  the 
thing,  but  does  not  take  it  away. 

VI.  Reality  and  perfection  I use  as  synonymous  terms. 

VII.  By  particular  things,  I mean  things  which  are  finite  and 
have  a conditioned  existence;  but  if  several  individual  things 
concur  in  one  action,  so  as  to  be  all  simultaneously  the  effect  of 
one  cause,  I consider  them  all,  so  far,  as  one  particular  thing. 

Axioms 

I.  The  essence  of  man  does  not  involve  necessary  existence, 
that  is,  it  may,  in  the  order  of  nature,  come  to  pass  that  this  or 
that  man  does  or  does  not  exist. 

II.  Man  thinks. 

III.  Modes  of  thinking,  such  as  love,  desire,  or  any  other  of 
the  passions,  do  not  take  place,  unless  there  be  in  the  same 
individual  an  idea  of  the  thing  loved,  desired,  &c.  But  the  idea 
can  exist  without  the  presence  of  any  other  mode  of  thinking. 


270 


BARUCH  DE  SPINOZA 


IV.  We  perceive  that  a certain  body  is  affected  in  many  ways. 

V.  We  feel  and  perceive  no  particular  things,  save  bodies  and 
modes  of  thought. 

Propositions 

Prop.  I.  Thought  is  an  attribute  of  God,  or  God  is  a thinking 
thing. 

Proof.  — Particular  thoughts,  or  this  or  that  thought,  are 
modes  which,  in  a certain  conditioned  manner,  express  the  na- 
ture of  God  (Pt.  i.  Prop.  xxv.  Coroll.).  God  therefore  possesses 
the  attribute  (Pt.  i.  Def.  v.)  of  which  the  concept  is  involved  in 
all  particular  thoughts,  which  latter  are  conceived  thereby. 
Thought,  therefore,  is  one  of  the  infinite  attributes  of  God,  which 
express  God’s  eternal  and  infinite  essence  (Pt.  i.  Def.  vi.).  In 
other  words,  God  is  a thinking  thing.  Q.  E.  D. 

Note.  — This  proposition  is  also  evident  from  the  fact,  that 
we  are  able  to  conceive  an  infinite  thinking  being.  For,  in  pro- 
portion as  a thinking  being  is  conceived  as  thinking  more 
thoughts,  so  is  it  conceived  as  containing  more  reality  or  perfec- 
tion. Therefore  a being,  which  can  think  an  infinite  number  of 
things  in  an  infinite  number  of  ways,  is,  necessarily,  in  respect 
of  thinking,  infinite.  As,  therefore,  from  the  consideration  of 
thought  alone  we  conceive  an  infinite  being,  thought  is  necessa- 
rily (Pt.  i.  Defs.  iv.  and  vi.)  one  of  the  infinite  attributes  of  God, 
as  we  were  desirous  of  showing. 

Prop.  II.  Extension  is  an  attribute  of  God,  or  God  is  an  ex- 
tended thing. 

Proof.  — The  proof  of  this  proposition  is  similar  to  that  of 
the  last. 

Prop.  III.  In  God  there  is  necessarily  the  idea  not  only  of  his 
essence,  but  also  of  all  things  which  necessarily  follow  from  his 
essence. 

Proof.  — God  (by  the  first  Prop,  of  this  Part)  can  think  an 
infinite  number  of  things  in  infinite  ways,  or  (what  is  the  same 
thing,  by  Prop.  xvi.  Part  i.)  can  form  the  idea  of  his  essence,  and 
of  all  things  which  necessarily  follow  therefrom.  Now  all  that 
is  in  the  power  of  God  necessarily  is  (Pt.  i.  Prop.  xxxv).  There- 


THE  ETHICS 


271 

fore,  such  an  idea  as  we  are  considering  necessarily  is,  and  in 
God  alone.  Q.  E.  D.  (Part  i.  Prop,  xv.) 

Note.  — The  multitude  understand  by  the  power  of  God  the 
free  will  of  God,  and  the  right  over  all  things  that  exist,  which 
latter  are  accordingly  generally  considered  as  contingent.  For 
it  is  said  that  God  has  the  power  to  destroy  all  things,  and  to 
reduce  them  to  nothing.  Further,  the  power  of  God  is  very  often 
likened  to  the  power  of  kings.  But  this  doctrine  we  have  refuted 
(Pt.  i.  Prop,  xxxii..  Corolls,  i.  and  ii.),  and  we  have  shown  (Part 
i.  Prop,  xvi.)  that  God  acts  by  the  same  necessity,  as  that  by 
which  he  understands  himself;  in  other  words,  as  it  follows 
from  the  necessity  of  the  divine  nature  (as  all  admit),  that  God 
understands  himself,  so  also  does  it  follow  by  the  same  neces- 
sity that  God  performs  infinite  acts  in  infinite  ways.  We  further 
showed  (Part  i.  Prop,  xxxiv.),  that  God’s  power  is  identical  with 
God’s  essence  in  action;  therefore  it  is  as  impossible  for  us  to 
conceive  God  as  not  acting,  as  to  conceive  him  as  non-existent. 
If  we  might  pursue  the  subject  further,  I could  point  out,  that 
the  power  which  is  commonly  attributed  to  God  is  not  only 
human  (as  showing  that  God  is  conceived  by  the  multitude  as  a 
man,  or  in  the  likeness  of  a man),  but  involves  a negation  of 
power.  However,  I am  unwilling  to  go  over  the  same  ground  so 
often.  I would  only  beg  the  reader  again  and  again,  to  turn  over 
frequently  in  his  mind  what  I have  said  in  Part  i.  from  Prop.  xvi. 
to  the  end.  No  one  will  be  able  to  follow  my  meaning,  unless  he 
is  scrupulously  careful  not  to  confound  the  power  of  God  with 
the  human  power  and  right  of  kings. 

Prop.  XXXII.  All  ideas,  in  so  far  as  they  are  referred  to  God, 
are  true. 

Proof.  — All  ideas  which  are  in  God  agree  in  every  respect 
with  their  objects  (II.  vii.  Coroll.),  therefore  (I.  Ax.  vi.)  they 
are  all  true.  Q.  E.  D. 

Prop.  XXXIII.  There  is  nothing  positive  in  ideas,  which 
causes  them  to  be  called  false. 

Proof.  — If  this  be  denied , conceive,  if  possible,  a positive 
mode  of  thinking,  which  should  constitute  the  distinctive  quality 
of  falsehood.  Such  a mode  of  thinking  cannot  be  in  God  (II. 


T]^ 


BARUCH  DE  SPINOZA 


xxxii.) ; external  to  God  it  cannot  be  or  be  conceived  (I.  xv.). 
Therefore  there  is  nothing  positive  in  ideas  which  causes  them 
to  be  called  false.  Q.  E.  D. 

Prop.  XXXIV.  Every  idea,  which  in  us  is  absolute  or  adequate 
and  perfect,  is  true. 

Proof.  — When  we  say  that  an  idea  in  us  is  adequate  and 
perfect,  we  say,  in  other  words  (II.  xi.  Coroll.),  that  the  idea  is 
adequate  and  perfect  in  God,  in  so  far  as  he  constitutes  the 
essence  of  our  mind;  consequently  (II.  xxxii.),  we  say  that  such 
an  idea  is  true.  Q.  E.  D. 

Prop.  XXXV.  Falsity  consists  in  the  privation  of  knowledge, 
which  inadequate,  fragmentary,  or  confused  ideas  involve. 

Proof.  — There  is  nothing  positive  in  ideas,  which  causes 
them  to  be  called  false  (II.  xxxiii.) ; but  falsity  cannot  consist  in 
simple  privation  (for  minds,  not  bodies,  are  said  to  err  and  to  be 
mistaken),  neither  can  it  consist  in  absolute  ignorance,  for  igno- 
rance and  error  are  not  identical;  wherefore  it  consists  in  the 
privation  of  knowledge,  which  inadequate,  fragmentary,  or  con- 
fused ideas  involve.  Q.  E.  D. 

Prop.  XXXVI.  Inadequate  and  confused  ideas  follow  by  the 
same  necessity,  as  adequate  or  clear  and  distinct  ideas. 

Proof.  — All  ideas  are  in  God  (I.  xv.),  and  in  so  far  as  they 
are  referred  to  God  are  true  (II.  xxxii.)  and  (II.  vii.  Coroll.) 
adequate;  therefore  there  are  no  ideas  confused  or  inadequate, 
except  in  respect  to  a particular  mind  (cf.  II.  xxiv.  and  xxviii.) ; 
therefore  all  ideas,  whether  adequate  or  inadequate,  follow  by 
the  same  necessity  (II.  vi.).  Q.  E.  D. 

Prop.  XL.  Whatsoever  ideas  in  the  mind  follow  from  ideas 
which  are  therein  adequate,  are  also  themselves  adequate. 

Proof.  — This  proposition  is  self-evident.  For  when  we  say 
that  an  idea  in  the  human  mind  follows  from  ideas  which  are 
therein  adequate,  we  say,  in  other  words  (II.  xi.  Coroll.),  that  an 
idea  is  in  the  divine  intellect,  whereof  God  is  the  cause,  not  in  so 
far  as  he  is  infinite,  nor  in  so  far  as  he  is  affected  by  the  ideas  of 
very  many  particular  things,  but  only  in  so  far  as  he  constitutes 
the  essence  of  the  human  mind. 


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273 


Note  II.  — From  all  that  has  been  said  above  it  is  clear,  that 
we,  in  many  cases,  perceive  and  form  our  general  notions:  — 
(i)  From  particular  things  represented  to  our  intellect  fragment- 
arily,  confusedly,  and  without  order  through  our  senses  (II.  xxix. 
Coroll.) ; I have  settled  to  call  such  perceptions  by  the  name 
of  knowledge  from  the  mere  suggestions  of  experience.  (2)  From 
symbols,  e.  g.,  from  the  fact  of  having  read  or  heard  certain 
words  we  remember  things  and  form  certain  ideas  concerning 
them,  similar  to  those  through  which  we  imagine  things  (II. 
xviii.  note).  I shall  call  both  these  ways  of  regarding  things 
knowledge  of  the  first  kind,  opinion,  or  imagination.  (3)  From 
the  fact  that  we  have  notions  common  to  all  men,  and  adequate 
ideas  of  the  properties  of  things  (II.  xxxviii.  Coroll.,  xxxix.  and 
Coroll,  and  xl.) ; this  I call  reason  and  knowledge  of  the  second 
kind.  Besides  these  two  kinds  of  knowledge,  there  is,  as  I will 
hereafter  show,  a third  kind  of  knowledge,  which  we  will  call 
intuition.  This  kind  of  knowledge  proceeds  from  an  adequate 
idea  of  the  absolute  essence  of  certain  attributes  of  God  to  the 
adequate  knowledge  of  the  essence  of  things.  I will  illustrate  all 
three  kinds  of  knowledge  by  a single  example.  Three  numbers 
are  given  for  finding  a fourth,  which  shall  be  to  the  third  as  the 
second  is  to  the  first.  Tradesmen  without  hesitation  multiply 
the  second  by  the  third,  and  divide  the  product  by  the  first ; 
either  because  they  have  not  forgotten  the  rule  which  they  re- 
ceived from  a master  without  any  proof,  or  because  they  have 
often  made  trial  of  it  with  simple  numbers,  or  by  virtue  of  the 
proof  of  the  nineteenth  proposition  of  the  seventh  book  of  Euclid, 
namely,  in  virtue  of  the  general  property  of  proportionals. 

But  with  very  simple  numbers  there  is  no  need  of  this.  For 
instance,  one,  two,  three,  being  given,  everyone  can  see  that  the 
fourth  proportional  is  six;  and  this  is  much  clearer,  because  we 
infer  the  fourth  number  from  an  intuitive  grasping  of  the  ratio, 
which  the  first  bears  to  the  second. 

Prop.  XLI.  Knowledge  of  the  first  kind  is  the  only  source  of 
falsity,  knowledge  of  the  second  and  third  kinds  is  necessarily  true. 

Proof.  — To  knowledge  of  the  first  kind  we  have  (in  the  fore- 
going note)  assigned  all  those  ideas,  which  are  inadequate  and 


274 


BARUCH  DE  SPINOZA 


confused-;  therefore  this  kind  of  knowledge  is  the  only  source 
of  falsity  (II.  xxxv.)..  F urthermore,  we  assigned  to  the  second 
and  third  kinds  of  knowledge  those  ideas  which  are  adequate; 
therefore  these  kinds  are  necessarily  true  (II.  xxxiv.).  Q.  E.  D. 

Prop.  XLII.  Knowledge  of  the  second  und  third  kinds,  not 
knowledge  of  the  first  kind,  teaches  u,s  to  distinguish  the  true  from 
the  false. 

Proof.  — This  proposition  is  self-evident.  He,  who  knows 
how  to  distinguish  between  true  and  false,  must  have  an  ade- 
quate idea  of  true  and  false.  That  is  (II.  xL,  note  ii.),  he  must 
know  the  true  and  the  false  by  the  second  or  third  kind  of  know- 
ledge.- 

Prop.  XLIV.  It  is  not  in  the  nature  of  reason  to  regard  things 
as  contingent,  hut  as  necessary. 

Proof.  — It  is  in  the  nature  of  reason  to  perceive  things  truly 
(II.  xli.),  namely  (I.  Ax.  vi.),  as  they  are  in  themselves  — that  is 
(I.  xxix.),  not  as  contingent,  but  as  necessary.  Q.  E.  D. 

Corollary  I.  — Hence  it  follows,  that  it  is  only  through  our 
imagination  that  we  consider  things,  whether  in  respect  to  the 
future  or  the  past,  as  contingent. 

Corollary  II.  — It  is  in  the  nature  of  reason  to  perceive  things 
under  a certain  form  of  eternity  {sub  quadam  aeternitatis  specie). 

Proof.  — It  is  in  the  nature  of  reason  to  regard  things,  not  as 
contingent,  but  as  necessary  (II.  xliv.).  Reason  perceives  this 
necessity  of  things  (II.  xli.)  truly  — that  is  (I.  Ax.  vi.),  as  it  is 
in  itself.  But  (I.  xvi.)  this  necessity  of  things  is  the  very  necessity 
of  the  eternal  nature  of  God;  therefore,  it  is  in  the  nature  of 
reason  to  regard  things  under  this  form  of  eternity.  We  may 
add  that  the  bases  of  reason  are  the  notions  (II.  xxxviii.),  which 
answer  to  things  common  to  all,  and  which  (II.  xxxvii.)  do  not 
answer  to  the  essence  of  any  particular  thing : which  must  there- 
fore be  conceived  without  any  relation  to  time,  under  a certain 
form  of  eternity. 

Prop.  XLV.  Every  idea  of  every  body,  or  of  every  particular 
thing  actually  existing,  necessarily  involves  the  eternal  and  infinite 
essence  of  God. 


THE  ETHICS 


275 

Proof.  — The  idea  of  a particular  thing  actually  existing  neces- 
sarily involves  both  the  existence  and  the  essence  of  the  said 
thing  (II.  viii.).  Now  particular  things  cannot  be  conceived 
without  God  (I.  XV.) ; but,  inasmuch  as  (II.  vi.)  they  have  God 
for  their  cause,  in  so  far  as  he  is  regarded  under  the  attribute 
of  which  the  things  in  question  are  modes,  their  ideas  must 
necessarily  involve  (I.  Ax.  iv.)  the  conception  of  the  attribute  of 
those  ideas  — that  is  (I.  vi.),  the  eternal  and  infinite  essence  of 
God.  Q.  E.  D. 

Prop.  XLVIII.  In  the  mind  there  is  no  absolute  or  free  will; 
hut  the  mind  is  determined  to  wish  this  or  that  by  a cause,  which 
has  also  been  determined  by  another  cause,  and  this  last  by  another 
cause,  and  so  on  to  infinity. 

Proof.  — The  mind  is  a fixed  and  definite  mode  of  thought 
(II.  xi.),  therefore  it  cannot  be  the  free  cause  of  its  actions  (I. 
xvii.  Coroll,  ii.) ; in  other  words,  it  cannot  have  an  absolute  fac- 
ulty of  positive  or  negative  volition;  but  (by  I.  xxviii.)  it  must  be 
determined  by  a cause,  which  has  also  been  determined  by  an- 
other cause,  and  this  last  by  another,  &c.  Q.  E.  D. 

Note.  — In  the  same  way  it  is  proved,  that  there  is  in  the 
mind  no  absolute  faculty  of  understanding,  desiring,  loving,  &c. 
Whence  it  follows,  that  these  and  similar  faculties  are  either 
entirely  fictitious,  or  are  merely  abstract  or  general  terms,  such  as 
we  are  accustomed  to  put  together  from  particular  things.  . . . 

Prop.  XLIX.  There  is  in  the  mind  no  volition  or  ajfirmation 
and  negation,  save  that  which  an  idea,  inasmuch  as  it  is  an  idea, 
involves. 

Proof.  — There  is  in  the  mind  no  absolute  faculty  of  positive 
or  negative  volition,  but  only  particular  volitions,  namely,  this 
or  that  affirmation,  and  this  or  that  negation.  Now  let  us  con- 
ceive a particular  volition,  namely,  the  mode  of  thinking  whereby 
the  mind  affirms  that  the  three  interior  angles  of  a triangle  are 
equal  to  two  right  angles.  This  affirmation  involves  the  concep- 
tion or  idea  of  a triangle,  that  is,  without  the  idea  of  a triangle 
it  cannot  be  conceived.  It  is  the  same  thing  to  say,  that  the  con- 
cept A must  involve  the  concept  B,  as  it  is  to  say,  that  A cannot  be 


BARUCH  DE  SPINOZA 


276 

conceived  without  B.  Further,  this  affirmation  cannot  be  made 
(II.  Ax.  iii.)  without  the  idea  of  a triangle.  Therefore,  this  affir- 
mation can  neither  be  nor  be  conceived,  without  the  idea  of  a 
triangle.  Again,  this  idea  of  a triangle  must  involve  this  same 
affirmation,  namely,  that  its  three  interior  angles  are  equal  to 
two  right  angles.  Wherefore,  and  vice  versa,  this  idea  of  a tri- 
angle can  neither  be  nor  be  conceived  without  this  affirmation, 
therefore,  this  affirmation  belongs  to  the  essence  of  the  idea  of  a 
triangle,  and  is  nothing  besides.  What  we  have  said  of  this  voli- 
tion (inasmuch  as  we  have  selected  it  at  random)  may  be  said 
of  any  other  volition,  namely,  that  it  is  nothing  but  an  idea. 
Q.  E.  D. 

Corollary.  — Will  and  understanding  are  one  and  the  same. 

Proof.  — Will  and  understanding  are  nothing  beyond  the 
individual  volitions  and  ideas  (II.  xlviii.  and  note).  But  a partic- 
ular volition  and  a particular  idea  are  one  and  the  same  (by  the 
foregoing  Prop.) ; therefore,  will  and  understanding  are  one  and 
the  same.  Q.  E.  D. 

Note.  — We  have  thus  removed  the  cause  which  is  commonly 
assigned  for  error.  For  we  have  shown  above,  that  falsity  con- 
sists solely  in  the  privation  of  knowledge  involved  in  ideas  which 
are  fragmentary  and  confused.  Wherefore,  a false  idea,  inas- 
much as  it  is  false,  does  not  involve  certainty.  . . . 

It  remains  to  point  out  the  advantages  of  a knowledge  of  this' 
doctrine  as  bearing  on  conduct,  and  this  may  be  easily  gathered 
from  what  has  been  said.  The  doctrine  is  good, 

I.  Inasmuch  as  it  teaches  us  to  act  solely  according  to  the 
decree  of  God,  and  to  be  partakers  in  the  Divine  nature,  and' 
so  much  the  more,  as  we  perform  more  perfect  actions  and  more 
and  more  understand  God.  Such  a doctrine  not  only  completely 
tranquillizes  our  spirit,  but  also  shows  us  where  our  highest 
happiness  or  blessedness  is,  namely,  solely  in  the  knowledge  of 
God,  whereby  we  are  led  to  act  only  as  love  and  piety  shall  bid 
us.  We  may  thus  clearly  understand,  how  far  astray  from  a 
true  estimate  of  virtue  are  those  who  expect  to  be  decorated 
by  God  with  high  rewards  for  their  virtue,  and  their  best  ac- 
tions, as  for  having  endured  the  direst  slavery;  as  if  virtue  and 


THE  ETHICS 


277 

the  service  of  God  were  not  in  itself  happiness  and  perfect  free- 
dom. 

2.  Inasmuch  as  it  teaches  us,  how  we  ought  to  conduct  our- 
selves with  respect  to  the  gifts  of  fortune,  or  matters  which  are 
not  in  our  own  power,  and  do  not  follow  from  our  nature.  For 
it  shows  us,  that  we  should  await  and  endure  fortune’s  smiles  or 
frowns  with  an  equal  mind,  seeing  that  all  things  follow  from  the 
eternal  decree  of  God  by  the  same  necessity,  as  it  follows  from 
the  essence  of  a triangle,  that  the  three  angles  are  equal  to  two 
right  angles. 

3.  This  doctrine  raises  social  life,  inasmuch  as  it  teaches  us 
to  hate  no  man,  neither  to  despise,  to  deride,  to  envy,  or  to  be 
angry  with  any.  Further,  as  it  tells  us  that  each  should  be  con- 
tent with  his  own,  and  helpful  to  his  neighbour,  not  from  any 
womanish  pity,  favour,  or  superstition,  but  solely  by  the  guid- 
ance of  reason,  according  as  the  time  and  occasion  demand. 

4.  Lastly,  this  doctrine  confers  no  small  advantage  on  the 
commonwealth;  for  it  teaches  how  citizens  should  be  governed 
and  led,  not  so  as  to  become  slaves,  but  so  that  they  may  freely 
do  whatsoever  things  are  best. 


PART  V.  OF  THE  POWER  OF  THE  UNDER- 
STANDING, OR  OF  HUMAN  FREEDOM 

Preface 

At  length  I pass  to  the  remaining  portion  of  my  Ethics,  which 
is  concerned  with  the  way  leading  to  freedom.  I shall  therefore 
treat  therein  of  the  power  of  the  reason,  showing  how  far  the 
reason  can  control  the  emotions,  and  what  is  the  nature  of  Mental 
Freedom  or  Blessedness ; we  shall  then  be  able  to  see,  how  much 
more  powerful  the  wise  man  is  than  the  ignorant.  It  is  no  part 
of  my  design  to  point  out  the  method  and  means  whereby  the 
understanding  may  be  perfected,  nor  to  show  the  skill  whereby 
the  body  may  be  so  tended,  as  to  be  capable  of  the  due  perform- 
ance of  its  functions.  The  latter  question  lies  in  the  province  of 
Medicine,  the  former  in  the  province  of  Logic.  Here,  therefore, 


BARUCH  DE  SPINOZA 


278 

I repeat,  I shall  treat  only  of  the  power  of  the  mind,  or  of  reason; 
and  I shall  mainly  show  the  extent  and  nature  of  its  dominion 
over  the  emotions,  for  their  control  and  moderation. 


Axioms 

I.  If  two  contrary  actions  be  started  in  the  same  subject,  a 
change  must  necessarily  take  place,  either  in  both,  or  in  one  of 
the  two,  and  continue  until  they  cease  to  be  contrary. 

II.  The  power  of  an  effect  is  defined  by  the  power  of  its  cause, 
in  so  far  as  its  essence  is  explained  or  defined  by  the  essence  of 
its  cause. 

(This  axiom  is  evident  from  III.  vii.) 

Prop.  I.  Even  as  thoughts  and  the  ideas  of  things  are  arranged 
and  associated  in  the  mind,  so  are  the  modifications  of  body  or 
the  images  of  things  precisely  in  the  same  way  arranged  and  asso- 
ciated in  the  body. 

Proof.  — The  order  and  connection  of  ideas  is  the  same 
(II.  vii.)  as  the  order  and  connection  of  things,  and  vice  versa 
the  order  and  connection  of  things  is  the  same  (II.  vi.  Coroll, 
and  vii.)  as  the  order  and  connection  of  ideas.  Wherefore,  even 
as  the  order  and  connection  of  ideas  in  the  mind  takes  place 
according  to  the  order  and  association  of  modifications  of  the 
body  (II.  xviii.),  so  vice  versa  (III.  ii.)  the  order  and  connection 
of  modifications  of  the  body  takes  place  in  accordance  with  the 
manner,  in  which  thoughts  and  the  ideas  of  things  are  arranged 
and  associated  in  the  mind.  Q.  E.  D. 

Prop.  II.  If  we  remove  a disturbance  of  the  spirit,  or  emotion, 
from  the  thought  of  an  external  cause,  and  unite  it  to  other  thoughts, 
then  will  the  love  or  hatred  towards  that  external  cause,  and  also  the 
vacillations  of  spirit  which  arise  from  these  emotions,  be  destroyed. 

Proof.  — That,  which  constitutes  the  reality  of  love  or  hatred, 
is  pleasure  or  pain,  accompanied  by  the  idea  of  an  external  cause 
(Def.  of  the  Emotions,  vi.  vii.) ; wherefore,  when  this  cause  is 
removed,  the  reality  of  love  or  hatred  is  removed  with  it;  there- 
fore these  emotions  and  those  which  arise  therefrom  are  de- 
stroyed. Q.  E.  D. 


THE  ETHICS 


279 

Prop.  III.  An  emotion,  which  is  a passion,  ceases  to  be  a pas- 
sion, as  soon  as  we  form  a clear  and  distinct  idea  thereof. 

Proof.  — An  emotion,  which  is  a passion,  is  a confused  idea 
(by  the  general  Def.  of  the  Emotions).  If,  therefore,  we  form  a 
clear  and  distinct  idea  of  a given  emotion,  that  idea  will  only  be 
distinguished  from  the  emotion,  in  so  far  as  it  is  referred  to  the 
mind  only,  by  reason  (II.  xxi.  and  note) ; therefore  (III.  iii.),  the 
emotion  will  cease  to  be  a passion.  Q.  E.  D. 

Corollary.  — An  emotion  therefore  becomes  more  under  our 
control,  and  the  mind  is  less  passive  in  respect  to  it,  in  proportion 
as  it  is  more  known  to  us. 

Prop.  XXV.  The  highest  endeavour  of  the  mind,  and  the  high- 
est virtue  is  to  understand  things  by  the  third  kind  of  knowledge. 

Proof.  — The  third  kind  of  knowledge  proceeds  from  an  ade- 
quate idea  of  certain  attributes  of  God  to  an  adequate  know- 
ledge of  the  essence  of  things  (see  its  definition,  II.  xl,  note  ii.) ; 
and,  in  proportion  as  we  understand  things  more  in  this  way, 
we  better  understand  God  (by  the  last  Prop.) ; therefore  (IV. 
xxviii.)  the  highest  virtue  of  the  mind,  that  is  (IV.  Def.  viii.)  the 
power,  or  nature,  or  (III.  vii.)  highest  endeavour  of  the  mind,  is 
to  understand  things  by  the  third  kind  of  knowledge.  Q.  E.  D. 

Prop.  XXVI.  In  proportion  as  the  mind  is  more  capable  of 
understanding  things  by  the  third  kind  of  knowledge,  it  desires 
more  to  understand  things  by  that  kind. 

Proof.  — This  is  evident.  For,  in  so  far  as  we  conceive  the 
mind  to  be  capable  of  conceiving  things  by  this  kind  of  know- 
ledge, we,  to  that  extent,  conceive  it  as  determined  thus  to  con- 
ceive things;  and  consequently  (Def.  of  the  Emotions,  i.),  the 
mind  desires  so  to  do,  in  proportion  as  it  is  more  capable  thereof. 
Q.  E.  D. 

Prop.  XXVII.  From  this  third  kind  of  knowledge  arises  the 
highest  possible  mental  acquiescence. 

Proof.  — The  highest  virtue  of  the  mind  is  to  know  God  (IV. 
xxviii.),  or  to  understand  things  by  the  third  kind  of  knowledge 
(V.  XXV.),  and  this  virtue  is  greater  in  proportion  as  the  mind 
knows  things  more  by  the  said  kind  of  knowledge  (V.  xxiv.) : 
consequently,  he  who  knows  things  by  this  kind  of  knowledge 


28o 


BARUCH  DE  SPINOZA 


passes  to  the  summit  of  human  perfection,  and  is  therefore 
(Def.  of  the  Emotions,  ii.)  affected  by  the  highest  pleasure, 
such  pleasure  being  accompanied  by  the  idea  of  himself  and 
his  own  virtue;  thus  (Def.  of  the  Emotions,  xxv.),  from  this  kind 
of  knowledge  arises  the  highest  possible  acquiescence.  Q.  E.  D. 

Prop.  XXVIII.  The  endeavour  or  desire  to  know  things  by 
the  third  kind  of  knowledge  cannot  arise  from  the  first,  but  from 
the  second  kind  of  knowledge. 

Proof.  — This  proposition  is  self-evident.  For  whatsoever  we 
understand  clearly  and  distinctly,  we  understand  either  through 
itself,  or  through  that  which  is  conceived  through  itself;  that  is, 
ideas  which  are  clear  and  distinct  in  us,  or  which  are  referred 
to  the  third  kind  of  knowledge  (II.  xl.  note  ii.)  cannot  follow 
from  ideas  that  are  fragmentary  and  confused,  and  are  referred 
to  knowledge  of  the  first  kind,  but  must  follow  from  adequate 
ideas,  or  ideas  of  the  second  and  third  kind  of  knowledge;  there- 
fore (Def.  of  the  Emotions,  i.),  the  desfie  of  knowing  things  by 
the  third  kind  of  knowledge  cannot  arise  from  the  first,  but  from 
the  second  kind.  Q.  E.  D. 

Prop.  XXXI.  The  third  kind  of  knowledge  defends  on  the 
mind,  as  its  formal  cause,  in  so  far  as  the  mind  itself  is  eternal. 

Proof.  — The  mind  does  not  conceive  anything  under  the  form 
of  eternity,  except  in  so  far  as  it  conceives  its  own  body  under 
the  form  of  eternity  (V.  xxix.) ; that  is,  except  in  so  far  as  it  is 
eternal  (V.  xxi.  xxiii.) ; therefore  (by  the  last  Prop.),  in  so  far  as 
it  is  eternal,  it  possesses  the  knowledge  of  God,  which  knowledge 
is  necessarily  adequate  (II.  xlvi.) ; hence  the  mind,  in  so  far  as 
it  is  eternal,  is  capable  of  knowing  everything  which  can  follow 
from  this  given  knowledge  of  God  (II.  xl.),  in  other  words,  of 
knowing  things  by  the  third  kind  of  knowledge  (see  Def.  in  II. 
xl.  note  ii.),  whereof  accordingly  the  mind  (III.  Def.  i.),  in  so 
far  as  it  is  eternal,  is  the  adequate  or  formal  cause  of  such  know- 
ledge. Q.  E.  D. 

Note.  — In  proportion,  therefore,  as  a man  is  more  potent  in 
this  kind  of  knowledge,  he  will  be  more  completely  conscious 
of  himself  and  of  God ; in  other  words,  he  will  be  more  perfect 
and  blessed,  as  will  appear  more  clearly  in  the  sequel.  . . . 


THE  ETHICS 


281 


Prop.  XXXII.  Whatsoever  we  understand  by  the  third  kind 
of  knowledge,  we  take  delight  in,  and  our  delight  is  accompanied 
by  the  idea  of  God  as  cause. 

Proof.  — From  this  kind  of  knowledge  arises  the  highest  pos- 
sible mental  acquiescence,  that  is  (Def.  of  the  Emotions,  xxvi.) 
pleasure,  and  this  acquiescence  is  accompanied  by  the  idea  of  the 
mind  itself  (V.  xxvii.),  and  consequently  (V.  xxx.)  the  idea  also 
of  God  as  cause.  Q.  E.  D. 

Corollary.  — From  the  third  kind  of  knowledge  necessarily 
arises  the  intellectual  love  of  God.  From  this  kind  of  knowledge 
arises  pleasure  accompanied  by  the  idea  of  God  as  cause,  that 
is  (Def.  of  the  Emotions,  vi.),  the  love  of  God;  not  in  so  far  as  we 
imagine  him  as  present  (V.  xxix.),  but  in  so  far  as  we  understand 
him  to  be  eternal;  this  is  what  I call  the  intellectual  love  of 
God. 

Prop.  XXXIII.  The  intellectual  love  of  God,  which  arises  from 
the  third  kind  of  knowledge,  is  eternal. 

Proof.  — The  third  kind  of  knowledge  is  eternal  (V.  xxxi.  I. 
Ax.  iii.) ; therefore  (by  the  same  Axiom)  the  love  which  arises 
therefrom  is  also  necessarily  eternal.  Q.  E.  D. 

Note.  — Although  this  love  towards  God  has  (by  the  foregoing 
Prop.)  no  beginning,  it  yet  possesses  all  the  perfections  of  love, 
just  as  though  it  had  arisen  as  we  feigned  in  the  Coroll,  of  the 
last  Prop.  Nor  is  there  here  any  difference,  except  that  the  mind 
possesses  as  eternal  those  same  perfections  which  we  feigned  to 
accrue  to  it,  and  they  are  accompanied  by  the  idea  of  God  as 
eternal  cause.  If  pleasure  consists  in  the  transition  to  a greater 
perfection,  assuredly  blessedness  must  consist  in  the  mind  being 
endowed  with  perfection  itself. 

Prop.  XXXIV.  The  mind  is,  only  while  the  body  endures, 
subject  to  those  emotions  which  are  attributable  to  passions. 

Proof.  — Imagination  is  the  idea  wherewith  the  mind  con- 
templates a thing  as  present  (II.  xvii,  note) ; yet  this  idea  indi- 
cates rather  the  present  disposition  of  the  human  body  than  the 
nature  of  the  external  thing  (II.  xvi.  Coroll.  ii.).  Therefore  emo- 
tion (see  general  Def.  of  Emotions)  is  imagination,  in  so  far  as  it 
indicates  the  present  disposition  of  the  body;  therefore  (V.  xxi.) 


28i 


BARUCH  DE  SPINOZA 


the  mind  is,  only  while  the  body  endures,  subject  to  emotions 
which  are  attributable  to  passions.  Q.  E.  D. 

Corollary.  — Hence  it  follows  that  no  love  save  intellectual 
love  is  eternal. 

Note.  — If  we  look  to  men’s  general  opinion,  we  shall  see  that 
they  are  indeed  conscious  of  the  eternity  of  their  mind,  but  that 
they  confuse  eternity  with  duration,  and  ascribe  it  to  the  imagina- 
tion of  the  memory  which  they  believe  to  remain  after  death. 

Prop.  XXXV.  God  loves  himself  with  an  infinite  intellectual 
love. 

Proof.  — God  is  absolutely  infinite  (I.  Def.  vi.),  that  is  (II. 
Def.  vi.),  the  nature  of  God  rejoices  in  infinite  perfection;  and 
such  rejoicing  is  (II.  iii.)  accompanied  by  the  idea  of  himself, 
that  is  (I.  xi.  and  Def.  i.),  the  idea  of  his  own  cause:  now  this  is 
what  we  have  (in  V.  xxxii.  Coroll.)  described  as  intellectual  love. 

Prop.  XXXVI.  The  intellectual  love  of  the  mind  towards 
God  is  that  very  love  of  God  whereby  God  loves  himself,  not  in 
so  far  as  he  is  infinite,  hut  in  so  far  as  he  can  he  explained  through 
the  essence  of  the  human  mind  regarded  under  the  form  of  eternity; 
in  other  words,  the  intellectual  love  of  the  mind  towards  God  is  part 
of  the  infinite  love  wherewith  God  loves  himself. 

Proof.  — This  love  of  the  mind  must  be  referred  to  the  activ- 
ities of  the  mind  (V.  xxxii.  Coroll,  and  III.  iii.) ; it  is  itself,  indeed, 
an  activity  whereby  the  mind  regards  itself  accompanied  by  the 
idea  of  God  as  cause  (V.  xxxii.  and  Coroll.) ; that  is  (I.  xxv. 
Coroll,  and  II.  xi.  Coroll.),  an  activity  whereby  God,  in  so  far 
as  he  can  be  explained  through  the  human  mind,  regards  himself 
accompanied  by  the  idea  of  himself ; therefore  (by  the  last  Prop.), 
this  love  of  the  mind  is  part  of  the  infinite  love  wherewith  God 
loves  himself.  Q.  E.  D. 

Corollary.  ■ — Hence  it  follows  that  God,  in  so  far  as  he  loves 
himself,  loves  man,  and,  consequently,  that  the  love  of  God 
towards  men,  and  the  intellectual  love  of  the  mind  towards 
God  are  identical. 

Prop.  XXXVII.  There  is  nothing  in  nature,  which  is  contrary 
to  this  intellectual  love,  or  which  can  take  it  away. 

Proof.  — This  intellectual  love  follow's  necessarily  from  the 


THE  ETHICS 


283 

nature  of  the  mind,  in  so  far  as  the  latter  is  regaraed  through  the 
nature  of  God  as  an  eternal  truth  (V.  xxxiii.  and  xxix.).  If,  there- 
fore, there  should  be  anything  which  would  be  contrary  to  this 
love,  that  thing  would  be  contrary  to  that  which  is  true;  conse- 
quently, that  which  should  be  able  to  take  away  this  love,  would 
cause  that  which  is  true  to  be  false;  an  obvious  absurdity. 
Therefore  there  is  nothing  in  nature  which,  &c.  Q.  E.  D. 

Note.  — The  Axiom  of  Part  IV.  has  reference  to  particular 
things,  in  so  far  as  they  are  regarded  in  relation  to  a given  time 
and  place:  of  this,  I think,  no  one  can  doubt. 

Prop.  XXXVIII.  In  proportion  as  the  mind  understands 
more  things  by  the  second  and  third  kind  of  knowledge,  it  is  less 
subject  to  those  emotions  which  are  evil,  and  stands  in  less  fear  of 
death. 

Proof.  — The  mind’s  essence  consists  in  knowledge  (II.  xi.) ; 
therefore,  in  proportion  as  the  mind  understands  more  things 
by  the  second  and  third  kinds  of  knowledge,  the  greater  will  be 
the  part  of  it  that  endures  (V.  xxix.  and  xxiii.),  and,  consequently 
(by  the  last  Prop.),  the  greater  will  be  the  part  that  is  not  touched 
by  the  emotions,  which  are  contrary  to  our  nature,  or  in  other 
words,  evil  (IV.  xxx.).  Thus,  in  proportion  as  the  mind  under- 
stands more  things  by  the  second  and  third  kinds  of  knowdedge, 
the  greater  will  be  the  part  of  it  that  remains  unimpaired,  and, 
consequently,  less  subject  to  emotions,  &c.  Q.  E.  D. 

Prop.  XXXIX.  He,  who  possesses  a body  capable  of  the  great- 
est number  of  activities,  possesses  a mind  whereof  the  greatest 
part  is  eternal. 

Proof.  — He  who  possesses  a body  capable  of  the  greatest 
number  of  activities,  is  least  agitated  by  those  emotions  which 
are  evil  (IV.  xxxviii.)  — that  is  (IV.  xxx.),  by  those  emotions 
which  are  contrary  to  our  nature;  therefore  (V.  x.),  he  possesses 
the  power  of  arranging  and  associating  the  modifications  of  the 
body  according  to  the  intellectual  order,  and,  consequently,  of 
bringing  it  about,  that  all  the  modifications  of  the  body  should 
be  referred  to  the  idea  of  God;  whence  it  will  come  to  pass  that 
(V.  XV.)  he  w'ill  be  affected  with  love  towards  God,  which  (V. 
xvi.)  must  occupy  or  constitute  the  chief  part  of  the  mind;  there- 


BARUCH  DE  SPINOZA 


284 

fore  (V.  xxxiii.),  such  a man  will  possess  a mind  whereof  the 
chief  part  is  eternal.  Q.  E.  D. 

Note.  — Hence  we  understand  that  point  which  I touched 
on  in  IV.  xxxix.  note,  and  which  I promised  to  explain  in  this 
Part ; namely,  that  death  becomes  less  hurtful,  in  proportion 
as  the  mind’s  clear  and  distinct  knowledge  is  greater,  and,  con- 
sequently, in  proportion  as  the  mind  loves  God  more.  . . . 

Prop.  XL.  In  proportion  as  each  thing  possesses  more  of  per- 
fection, so  is  it  more  active  and  less  passive;  and,  vice  versa,  in 
proportion  as  it  is  more  active,  so  is  it  more  perfect. 

Proof.  — In  proportion  as  each  thing  is  more  perfect,  it  pos- 
sesses more  of  reality  (II.  Def.  vi.),  and,  consequently  (III. 
iii.  and  note),  it  is  to  that  extent  more  active  and  less  passive. 
This  demonstration  may  be  reversed,  and  thus  prove  that,  in 
proportion  as  a thing  is  more  active,  so  is  it  more  perfect. 
Q.  E.  D. 

Corollary.  — Hence  it  follows  that  the  part  of  the  mind  which 
' endures,  be  it  great  or  small,  is  more  perfect  than  the  rest.  For 
the  eternal  part  of  the  mind  (V.  xxiii.  xxix.)  is  the  understanding, 
through  which  alone  we  are  said  to  act  (III.  iii) ; the  part  which 
we  have  shown  to  perish  is  the  imagination  (V.  xxi.),  through 
which  only  we  are  said  to  be  passive  (HI.  iii.  and  general  Def. 
of  the  Emotions) ; therefore,  the  former,  be  it  great  or  small, 
is  more  perfect  than  the  latter.  Q.  E.  D. 

Note.  — Such  are  the  doctrines  which  I had  purposed  to  set 
forth  concerning  the  mind,  in  so  far  as  it  is  regarded  without  rela- 
tion to  the  body;  whence,  as  also  from  I.  xxi.  and  other  places, 
it  is  plain  that  our  mind,  in  so  far  as  it  understands,  is  an  eternal 
mode  of  thinking,  which  is  determined  by  another  eternal  mode 
of  thinking,  and  this  other  by  a third,  and  so  on  to  infinity; 
that  all  taken  together  at  once  constitute  the  eternal  and  infinite 
intellect  of  God. 

Prop.  XLII.  Blessedness  is  not  the  reward  of  virtue,  hut  virtue 
itself;  neither  do  we  rejoice  therein,  because  we  control  our  lusts, 
hut,  contrariwise,  because  we  rejoice  therein,  we  are  able  to  control 
our  lusts. 

Proof.  — Blessedness  consists  in  love  towards  God  (V.  xxxvi. 


THE  ETHICS 


285 

and  note),  which  love  springs  from  the  third  kind  of  knowledge 
(V.  xxxii.  Coroll.) ; therefore  this  love  (III.  iii.  lix.)  must  be  re- 
ferred to  the  mind,  in  so  far  as  the  latter  is  active;  therefore 
(IV.  Def.  viii.)  it  is  virtue  itself.  This  was  our  first  point.  Again, 
in  proportion  as  the  mind  rejoices  more  in  this  divine  love  or 
blessedness,  so  does  it  the  more  understand  (V.  xxxii.) ; that  is 
(V.  iii.  Coroll.),  so  much  the  more  power  has  it  over  the  emotions, 
and  (V.  xxxviii.)  so  much  the  less  is  it  subject  to  those  emotions 
which  are  evil ; therefore,  in  proportion  as  the  mind  rejoices  in 
this  divine  love  or  blessedness,  so  has  it  the  power  of  controlling 
lusts.  And,  since  human  power  in  controlling  the  emotions  con- 
sists solely  in  the  understanding,  it  follows  that  no  one  rejoices  in 
blessedness,  because  he  has  controlled  his  lusts,  but,  contrari- 
wise, his  power  of  controlling  his  lusts  arises  from  this  blessed- 
ness itself.  Q.  E.  D. 

Note.  — I have  thus  completed  all  I wished  to  set  forth  touch- 
ing the  mind’s  power  over  the  emotions  and  the  mind’s  freedom. 
Whence  it  appears,  how  potent  is  the  wise  man,  and  how  much 
he  surpasses  the  ignorant  man,  who  is  driven  only  by  his  lusts. 
For  the  ignorant  man  is  not  only  distracted  in  various  ways  by 
external  causes  without  ever  gaining  the  true  acquiescence  of  his 
spirit,  but  moreover  lives,  as  it  were  unwitting  of  himself,  and  of 
God,  and  of  things,  and  as  soon  as  he  ceases  to  suffer,  ceases  also 
to  be. 

Whereas  the  wise  man,  in  so  far  as  he  is  regarded  as  such, 
is  scarcely  at  all  disturbed  in  spirit,  but,  being  conscious  of  him- 
self, and  of  God,  and  of  things,  by  a certain  eternal  necessity, 
never  ceases  to  be,  but  always  possesses  true  acquiescence  of  his 
spirit. 

If  the  way  which  I have  pointed  out  as  leading  to  this  result 
seems  exceedingly  hard,  it  may  nevertheless  be  discovered. 
Needs  must  it  be  hard,  since  it  is  so  seldom  found.  How  would  it 
be  possible,  if  salvation  were  ready  to  our  hand,  and  could  with- 
out great  labour  be  found,  that  it  should  be  by  almost  all  men  ne- 
glected? But  all  things  excellent  are  as  difficult  as  they  are  rare. 


NICOLAS  MALEBRANGHE 

( 1638-1715) 

A TREATISE  OF  MORALITY 


Translated  from  the  French  * by 
JAMES  SHIPTON 

CHAPTER  I.  THE  IMMUTABLE  ORDER 

I.  The  reason  of  man  is  the  word,  or  the  wisdom  of  God  himself; 
for  every  creature  is  a particular  being,  but  the  reason  of  man  is 
universal, 

II.  If  my  own  particular  mind  were  my  reason  and  my  light, 
my  mind  would  also  be  the  reason  of  all  intelligent  beings;  for  I 
am  certain,  that  my  reason  enlightens  all  intelligent  beings.  No 
one  can  feel  my  pain  but  myself,  but  every  one  may  see  the  truth 
which  I contemplate;  so  that  the  pain  which  I feel  is  a modifica- 
tion of  my  own  proper  substance,  but  truth  is  a possession  com- 
mon to  all  spiritual  beings. 

III.  Thus,  by  the  means  of  reason,  I have  or  may  have  some 
society  with  God,  and  all  other  intelligent  beings;  because  they 
all  possess  something  in  common  with  me,  to  wit,  reason. 

IV.  This  spiritual  society  consists  in  a participation  of  the 
same  intellectual  substance  of  the  word  from  which  all  spiritual 
beings  may  receive  their  nourishment.  In  contemplating  this 
divine  substance  I am  able  to  see  some  part  of  what  God  thinks ; 
for  God  sees  all  truths,  and  there  are  some  which  I can  see.  I can 
also  discover  something  of  the  will  of  God ; for  God  wills  nothing 
but  according  to  a certain  order,  and  this  order  is  not  altogether 
unknown  to  me.  It  is  certain  that  God  loves  things  according  as 
they  are  worthy  of  love ; and  I can  discover  that  there  are  some 
things  more  perfect,  more  valuable,  and  consequently  more 
worthy  of  love  than  others. 

* From  Traite  de  Morale.,  Rott.  1684.  Reprinted  from  N.  Malebranche’s 
A Treatise  of  Morality,  translated  by  James  Shipton,  London,  1699. 


A TREATISE  OF  MORALITY  287 

V.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that  I cannot  by  contemplating  the  word 
or  consulting  reason  be  assured  whether  God  doth  actually  pro- 
duce anything  out  of  his  own  being  or  no.  For  none  of  the  crea- 
tures proceed  naturally  from  the  word ; nor  is  the  world  a neces- 
sary emanation  of  the  Deity;  God  is  fully  sufficient  for  himself; 
and  the  idea  of  a being  infinitely  perfect  may  be  conceived  to 
subsist  alone.  The  creatures  then  suppose  in  God  free  and  arbi- 
trary decrees  which  give  them  their  being.  So  that  the  word,  as 
such,  not  containing  in  it  the  existence  of  the  creatures,  we  can- 
not by  the  contemplation  of  it  be  assured  of  the  action  of  God ; 
but  supposing  that  God  doth  act,  I am  able  to  know  something 
of  the  manner  in  which  he  acts,  and  may  be  certain  that  he  doth 
not  act  in  such  or  such  a manner.  For  that  which  regulates  his 
manner  of  acting,  the  law  which  he  inviolably  observes,  is  the 
word,  the  eternal  wisdom,  the  universal  reason,  which  makes  me 
rational,  and  which  I can  in  part  contemplate  according  to  my 
own  desires. 

VI.  If  we  suppose  man  to  be  a rational  creature,  we  cannot 
certainly  deny  him  the  knowledge  of  something  that  God  thinks, 
and  of  the  manner  in  which  he  acts.  For  by  contemplating  the 
substance  of  the  word,  which  alone  makes  me  and  all  other  intelli- 
gent beings  rational,  I can  clearly  discover  the  relations  or  pro- 
portions of  greatness  that  are  between  the  intellectual  ideas  com- 
prehended in  it;  and  these  relations  are  the  same  eternal  truths 
which  God  himself  sees.  For  God  sees  as  well  as  I that  twice  two 
is  four,  and  that  triangles  which  have  the  same  base,  and  are  be- 
tween the  same  parallels,  are  equal.  I can  also  discover,  at  least 
confusedly,  the  relations  of  perfection  which  are  between  the 
same  ideas ; and  these  relations  are  that  immutable  order  which 
God  consults  when  he  acts,  and  which  ought  also  to  regulate  the 
esteem  and  love  of  all  intelligent  beings. 

VII.  Hence  it  becomes  evident  that  there  are  such  things  as 
true  and  false,  right  and  wrong,  and  that  too  in  respect  of  all 
intelligent  beings;  that  whatsoever  is  true  in  respect  of  man,  is 
true  also  in  respect  of  angels,  and  of  God  himself;  that  what  is 
injustice  or  disorder  with  relation  to  man,  is  so  also  with  relation 
to  God.  For  all  spiritual  beings  contemplating  the  same  intel- 


288 


NICOLAS  MALEBRANCHE 


lectual  substance,  necessarily  discover  in  it  the  same  relations  of 
greatness,  or  the  same  speculative  truths.  They  discover  also  the 
same  practical  truths,  the  same  laws,  and  the  same  order,  when 
they  see  the  relations  of  perfection  that  are  between  those  intel- 
lectual beings  comprehended  in  the  substance  of  the  word,  which 
alone  is  the  immediate  object  of  all  our  knowledge. 

VIII.  I say,  when  they  see  these  relations  of  perfection  or 
greatness,  and  not  when  they  judge  of  them;  for  only  truth  or  the 
real  relations  of  things  are  visible,  and  we  ought  to  judge  of  no- 
thing but  what  we  see.  When  we  judge  before  we  see,  or  of  more 
things  than  we  see,  we  are  deceived  in  our  judgment,  or  at  least 
we  judge  ill,  though  we  may  happen  by  chance  not  to  be  deceived ; 
for  when  we  judge  of  things  by  chance,  as  well  as  when  we  judge 
by  passion  or  interest,  we  judge  ill  because  we  do  not  judge  by 
evidence  and  light.  This  is  judging  by  ourselves  and  not  by 
reason,  or  according  to  the  laws  of  universal  reason : that  reason, 
I say,  which  alone  is  superior  to  spirits,  and  hath  a right  to 
judge  of  those  judgments  which  are  pronounced  by  them. 

IX.  The  mind  of  man  being  finite  cannot  see  all  the  relations 
that  the  objects  of  its  knowledge  bear  to  one  another;  so  that  it 
may  be  deceived  when  it  judges  of  relations  which  it  doth  not  see. 
But  if  it  judged  of  nothing  but  just  what  it  saw,  which  without 
doubt  it  may  do;  certainly  though  it  be  a finite  spirit,  though  it  be 
ignorant,  and  in  its  own  nature  subject  to  error,  it  would  never  be 
deceived;  for  then  the  judgments  framed  by  it  would  not  proceed 
so  much  from  itself,  as  from  the  universal  reason  pronouncing  the 
same  judgments  in  it. 

X.  But  God  is  infallible  in  his  own  nature ; he  cannot  be  sub- 
ject to  error  or  sin,  for  he  is  his  own  light,  and  his  own  law ; reason 
is  consubstantial  with  him,  he  understands  it  perfectly,  and  loves 
it  invincibly.  Being  infinite  he  discovers  all  the  relations  that  are 
comprehended  in  the  intellectual  substance  of  the  word,  and 
therefore  cannot  judge  of  what  he  doth  not  see.  And  as  he  loves 
himself  invincibly,  so  he  cannot  but  esteem  and  love  other  things 
according  as  they  are  valuable  and  according  as  they  are  amiable. 

XIV.  Since  truth  and  order  are  relations  of  greatness  and  per- 
fection, real  immutable  and  necessary  relations,  relations  com- 


A TREATISE  OF  MORALITY 


289 

prehended  in  the  substance  of  the  divine  word,  he  that  sees  these 
relations  sees  that  which  God  sees;  he  that  regulates  his  love 
according  to  these  relations  observes  a law  which  God  invincibly 
loves.  So  that  there  is  a perfect  conformity  of  mind  and  will 
between  God  and  him.  In  a word,  seeing  he  knows  that  which 
God  knows,  and  loves  that  which  God  loves,  he  is  like  God,  as  far 
as  he  is  capable  of  being  so.  So  likewise  since  God  invincibly 
loves  himself  he  cannot  but  esteem  and  love  his  own  image.  And 
as  he  loves  things  in  proportion  to  their  being  amiable,  he  cannot 
but  prefer  it  before  all  those  beings  which  either  by  their  nature 
or  corruption  are  far  from  resembling  him. 

XV.  Man  is  a free  agent,  and  I suppose  him  to  have  all  neces- 
sary assistances:  in  respect  of  truth,  he  is  capable  of  searching 
after  it  notwithstanding  the  difficulty  he  finds  in  meditation ; and 
in  respect  of  order,  he  is  able  to  follow  it,  in  spite  of  all  the  efforts 
of  concupiscence.  He  can  sacrifice  his  ease  to  truth,  and  his 
pleasures  to  order.  On  the  other  side  he  can  prefer  his  actual  and 
present  happiness  before  his  duty,  and  fall  into  error  and  disorder. 
In  a word,  he  can  deserve  well  or  ill  by  doing  good  or  evil.  Now 
God  is  just;  he  loves  his  creatures  as  they  are  worthy  of  love,  or 
as  they  resemble  him.  His  will  therefore  is  that  every  good  action 
should  be  rewarded,  and  every  evil  one  punished;  that  he  who 
hath  made  a good  use  of  his  liberty,  and  by  that  means  hath  ren- 
dered himself  in  part  perfect  and  like  God,  should  be  in  part 
happy  as  he  is,  and  the  contrary. 

XVI.  It  is  God  alone  that  acts  upon  his  creatures ; at  least  he 
hath  a power  of  acting  on  them,  and  can  do  what  he  pleases  with 
them.  He  hath  power  therefore  to  make  spiritual  beings  happy  or 
miserable;  happy  by  the  enjoyment  of  pleasure,  and  miserable  by 
the  suffering  of  pain.  He  can  exalt  the  just  and  perfect  above 
other  men ; he  can  communicate  his  power  to  them  for  the  accom- 
plishment of  their  desires,  and  make  them  occasional  causes  for 
himself  to  act  by  in  a thousand  manners.  He  can  pull  down  the 
wicked,  and  make  them  subject  to  the  action  of  the  lowest  beings : 
this  experience  sufficiently  shows,  for  we  all,  as  we  are  sinners, 
depend  upon  the  action  of  sensible  objects. 

XVII.  He  therefore  that  labours  for  his  perfection,  and  en- 


290 


NICOLAS  MALEBRANCHE 


deavours  to  make  himself  like  God,  labours  for  his  happiness  and 
advancement.  If  he  doth  that  which  in  some  sort  depends  upon 
himself,  that  is  to  say,  if  he  deserves  well  by  making  himself  per- 
fect, God  will  do  that  which  in  no  sort  depepds  upon  him,  in  mak- 
ing him  happy.  For  since  God  loves  all  beings  proportionately  as 
they  are  amiable,  and  as  the  most  perfect  beings  are  the  most 
amiable,  they  shall  also  be  the  most  powerful,  the  most  happy, 
and  the  most  contented.  He  that  incessantly  consults  his  rea- 
son, and  loves  order,  having  a share  in  the  perfection  of  God, 
shall  have  also  a share  in  his  happiness,  glory,  and  greatness. 

XVIII.  Man  is  capable  of  three  things : knowing,  loving,  and 
sensibly  perceiving;  of  knowing  the  true  good,  of  loving  and  en- 
joying it.  The  knowledge  and  love  of  good  are  in  a great  measure 
in  his  own  power,  but  the  enjoyment  of  it  doth  not  at  all  depend 
upon  himself.  Nevertheless,  seeing  God  is  just,  he  that  knows 
and  loves  him,  shall  also  enjoy  him.  God,  being  just,  must  of 
necessity  give  the  pleasure  of  enjoyment,  and  by  it  happiness,  to 
him  that  by  a painful  application  seeks  the  knowledge  of  the  truth 
and  by  a right  use  of  his  liberty  and  the  strength  of  his  resolution, 
conforms  himself  to  the  law  of  God,  the  immutable  order,  not- 
withstanding all  the  efforts  of  concupiscence,  enduring  pain, 
despising  pleasure,  and  giving  that  honour  to  his  reason,  as  to 
believe  it  upon  its  word,  and  to  comfort  himself  with  its  promises. 
It  is  a strange  thing ! Men  know  very  well  that  the  enjoyment  of 
pleasure  and  avoiding  of  pain  do  not  depend  immediately  on  their 
desires.  They  find  on  the  contrary  that  it  is  in  their  own  power  to 
have  good  thoughts,  and  to  love  good  things,  -that  the  light  of 
truth  diffuses  itself  in  them  as  soon  as  they  desire  it,  and  that  the 
loving  and  following  of  order  depends  on  themselves.  And  yet 
they  seek  after  nothing  but  pleasure  and  neglect  the  foundation 
of  their  eternal  happiness,  that  knowledge  and  love  which  resem- 
ble the  knowledge  and  love  of  God,  the  knowledge  of  truth  and 
the  love  of  order;  for  as  I said  before,  he  that  knows  truth  and 
loves  order,  knows  as  God  knows  and  loves  as  he  loves. 

XIX.  This  then  is  our  first  and  greatest  duty,  that  for  which 
God  hath  created  us,  the  love  of  which  is  the  mother  of  all  virtue, 
the  universal,  the  fundamental  virtue;  the  virtue  which  makes  us 


A TREATISE  OF  MORALITY 


291 

just  and  perfect,  and  which  will  one  day  make  us  happy.  We  are 
rational  creatures ; our  virtue  and  perfection  is  to  love  reason,  or 
rather  to  love  order.  For  the  knowledge  of  speculative  truths,  or 
relations  of  greatness  doth  not  regulate  our  duties.  It  is  princi- 
pally the  knowledge  and  love  of  the  relations  of  perfection,  or 
practical  truths  wherein  consist  our  perfection.  Let  us  apply  our- 
selves then  to  know,  to  love,  and  to  follow  order.  Let  us  labour  for 
our  perfection ; as  for  our  happiness,  let  us  leave  that  to  the  dis- 
posal of  God  on  whom  it  wholly  depends.  God  is  just,  and  neces- 
sarily rewards  virtue ; let  us  not  doubt  then  but  that  we  shall  in- 
fallibly receive  all  the  happiness  that  we  have  deserved. 

XX,  The  obedience  which  we  pay  to  order  and  submission 
to  the  law  of  God  is  virtue  in  all  senses.  Submission  to  the  divine 
decrees  or  to  the  power  of  God  is  rather  necessity  than  virtue.  A 
man  may  follow  nature  and  yet  walk  irregularly,  for  nature  itself 
is  irregular.  On  the  other  side,  he  may  resist  the  action  of  God, 
without  opposing  his  orders ; for  oftentimes  the  particular  action 
of  God  is  so  determined  by  second  or  occasional  causes,  that  it  is 
not  conformable  to  order.  It  is  true  indeed  that  God  wills  nothing 
but  according  to  order ; but  he  often  acts  contrary  to  it : for  order 
itself  requiring  that  God  as  the  general  cause  should  act  in  a 
constant  and  uniform  manner  according  to  certain  general  laws 
which  he  hath  established,  the  effects  of  that  cause  are  many 
times  contrary  to  order.  He  forms  monsters,  and  is  subservient 
as  it  were  to  the  wickedness  of  men  in  this  world,  by  reason  of  the 
simplicity  of  those  ways  by  which  he  executes  his  designs.  So  that 
he  who  should  think  to  obey  God  in  submitting  to  his  power,  and 
in  follovv^ing  and  observing  the  course  of  nature,  would  offend 
against  order,  and  fall  into  disobedience  every  moment. 

XXI.  If  all  the  motions  of  bodies  were  caused  by  particular  acts 
of  the  will  of  God  it  would  be  a sin  to  avoid  the  ruins  of  a falling 
house  by  flight;  for  we  cannot  without  injustice  refuse  to  render 
back  to  God  that  life  which  he  hath  given  us  when  he  requires  it 
again.  At  this  rate  it  would  be  an  affront  to  the  wisdom  of  God, 
to  alter  the  course  of  rivers,  and  to  turn  them  to  places  that  want 
water;  we  should  follow  the  order  of  nature  and  be  quiet.  But 
since  God  acts  in  consequence  of  certain  general  laws,  we  correct 


292  NICOLAS  MALEBRANCHE 

his  work  without  injuring  his  wisdom;  we  resist  his  action  with- 
out opposing  his  will;  because  he  doth  not  will  positively  and 
directly  everything  that  he  doth.  For  example,  he  doth  not 
directly  will  unjust  actions,  though  he  alone  gives  motion  to  those 
that  commit  them;  and  though  it  be  only  he  who  sends  rain,  yet 
every  man  hath  a liberty  to  shelter  himself  when  it  rains.  For  God 
doth  not  send  rain  but  by  a necessary  consequence  of  general 
laws ; laws  which  he  hath  established,  not  that  such  or  such  a 
man  should  be  wet  through,  but  for  greater  ends  and  more 
agreeable  to  his  wisdom  and  goodness.  If  the  rain  fall  upon 
men,  upon  the  sea,  or  upon  the  sand,  it  is  because  he  is  not 
obliged  to  alter  the  uniformity  of  his  conduct,  for  the  useless- 
ness or  inconvenience  of  the  consequences  of  it. 

XXII.  The  case  is  not  the  same  between  God  and  men,  be- 
tween the  general  cause  and  particular  ones.  When  we  oppose 
the  action  of  men  we  offend  them;  for  since  they  act  only  by  par- 
ticular motions  of  the  will,  we  cannot  resist  their  action  without 
opposing  their  designs.  But  when  we  resist  the  action  of  God 
we  do  not  at  all  offend  him,  nay  we  often  promote  his  designs ; for 
since  God  constantly  follows  those  general  laws  which  he  hath 
prescribed  to  himself,  the  combination  of  those  effects  which  are 
the  necessary  consequences  of  them,  cannot  always  be  con- 
formable to  order,  nor  proper  for  the  execution  of  his  work. 
And  therefore  it  is  lawful  for  men  to  divert  these  natural  effects, 
not  only  when  they  may  be  the  occasion  of  their  death,  but  also 
when  they  are  Inconvenient  or  disagreeable.  Our  duty  then  con- 
sists in  submitting  ourselves  to  the  law  of  God,  and  following 
order : for  to  submit  to  his  absolute  power  is  necessity.  This  order 
we  may  know  by  our  union  with  the  word ; so  that  the  immutable 
order  may  be  our  law  and  our  guide.  But  the  divine  decrees  are 
absolutely  unknown  to  us:  and  therefore  let  us  not  make  them 
our  rule.  Let  us  leave  that  chimerical  virtue  of  following  God  or 
Nature  to  the  sages  of  Greece  and  the  Stoics.  But  let  us  consult 
reason,  let  us  love  and  follow  order  in  all  things ; for  then  we  truly 
follow  God,  when  we  submit  to  a law  which  he  invincibly  loves. 

XXIII.  But  though  the  order  of  nature  be  not  precisely  our 
law,  and  a submission  to  that  order  be  by  no  means  a virtue,  we 


A TREATISE  OF  MORALITY 


293 


must  observe  nevertheless  that  we  ought  oftentimes  to  have  a 
regard  to  it:  yet  still  this  is  because  the  immutable  order  so 
requires,  and  not  because  the  order  of  nature  is  an  effect  of  the 
power  of  God.  A man  that  suffers  persecution,  or  rather  one  that 
is  tormented  with  the  gout,  is  obliged  to  bear  it  with  patience  and 
humility,  because  being  a sinner,  order  requires  that  he  should 
suffer,  besides  other  reasons  which  need  not  here  be  produced. 
'But  if  man  were  not  subject  to  sin,  and  the  immutable  order  did 
not  require  that  he  should  suffer  to  deserve  his  reward,  certainly 
he  might,  nay  and  ought  to  seek  his  ease,  and  avoid  all  sorts  or 
inconveniences,  though  he  were  persecuted,  if  that  were  possible, 
by  the  inclemency  of  the  seasons,  and  by  the  miseries  which  sin 
hath  brought  into  the  world.  And  a man,  though  he  be  a sinner, 
may  shelter  himself  from  the  rain  and  the  wind,  and  avoid  the  ac- 
tion of  an  avenging  God ; because  order  requires  that  he  should 
preserve  his  strength  and  health,  and  especially  the  liberty  of  his 
mind,  to  think  upon  his  duty,  and  search  after  truth ; and  because 
rain  and  wind  being  consequences  of  the  general  laws  of  the  order 
of  nature,  it  doth  not  plainly  appear  that  it  is  the  positive  will  of 
God  that  he  should  suffer  that  particular  inconvenience.  For  it 
would  be  a heinous  crime  in  us  to  avoid  the  rain,  if  God  should 
make  it  rain  on  purpose  to  wet  and  punish  us : as  it  was  in  our  first 
parent  to  eat  of  a fruit,  because  of  the  express  prohibition,  and  his 
formal  disobedience.  But  if  virtue  consisted  precisely  in  living  in 
that  condition  wherein  we  are  placed  in  consequence  of  the  order 
of  nature,  he  that  is  born  in  the  midst  of  pleasure  and  abundance 
would  be  virtuous  without  pain ; and  nature  having  been  happily 
favourable  to  him,  he  would  follow  it  with  pleasure.  But  virtue 
must  be  painful  at  present,  that  it  may  be  generous  and  meritori- 
ous. A man  ought  to  sacrifice  himself  for  the  possession  of  God : 
pleasure  is  the  reward  of  merit,  and  therefore  cannot  be  the 
foundation  of  it.  In  a word,  truth  itself  informs  us  of  one  that 
was  commanded  to  sell  his  goods,  and  distribute  them  to  the 
poor,  if  he  would  be  perfect;  which  was  to  change  his  state  and 
condition.  Perfection  then  or  virtue  doth  not  consist  in  following 
the  order  of  nature,  but  in  submitting  wholly  to  the  immutable 
and  necessary  order,  the  inviolable  law  of  all  intelligent  beings. 


JOHN  LOCKE 

( 1632-1704) 

AN  ESSAY  CONCERNING  HUMAN 
UNDERSTANDING  * 

BOOK  I.  CHAPTER  III.  NO  INNATE 
PRACTICAL  PRINCIPLES 

I.  No  moral  principles  so  clear  and  so  generally  received  as  the 
fore-mentioned  speculative  maxims. — If  those  speculative  max- 
ims whereof  we  discoursed  in  the  foregoing  chapter,  have  not  an 
actual  universal  assent  from  all  mankind,  as  we  there  proved,  it 
is  much  more  visible  concerning  practical  principles,  that  they 
come  short  of  an  universal  reception;  and  I think  it  will  be  hard 
to  instance  any  one  moral  rule  which  can  pretend  to  so  general 
and  ready  an  assent  as  “ What  is,  is,”  or  to  be  so  manifest  a truth 
as  this,  “ That  it  is  impossible  for  the  same  thing  to  be,  and  not 
to  be.”  Whereby  it  is  evident,  that  they  are  farther  removed  from 
a title  to  be  innate ; and  the  doubt  of  their  being  native  impres- 
sions on  the  mind  is  stronger  against  these  moral  principles  than 
the  other.  Not  that  it  brings  their  truth  at  all  in  question.  They 
are  equally  true,  though  not  equally  evident.  Those  speculative 
maxims  carry  their  own  evidence  with  them ; but  moral  principles 
require  reasoning  and  discourse,  and  some  exercise  of  the  mind, 
to  discover  the  certainty  of  their  truth.  They  lie  not  open  as 
natural  characters  engraven  on  the  mind;  which  if  any  such 
were,  they  must  needs  be  visible  by  themselves,  and  by  their  own 
light  be  certain  and  known  to  everybody.  But  this  is  no  deroga- 
tion to  their  truth  and  certainty : no  more  than  it  is  to  the  truth  or 
certainty  of  the  three  angles  of  a triangle  being  equal  to  two  right 
ones,  because  it  is  not  so  evident  as,  “The  whole  is  bigger  than  a 
part,”  nor  so  apt  to  be  assented  to  at  first  hearing.  It  may  suffice 
that  these  moral  rules  are  capable  of  demonstration;  and  there- 

* London,  1690;  2d  enl.  ed.  1694  ; 3d  ed.  1695;  4th  enl.  ed.  1700;  5th  corr.  ed. 

1706;  ed.  A.  C.  Fraser,  2 vols.,  Oxford,  1894. 


ESSAY  ON  HUMAN  UNDERSTANDING  295 

fore  it  is  our  own  fault  if  we  come  not  to  a certain  knowledge  of 
them.  But  the  ignorance  wherein  many  men  are  of  them,  and  the 
slowness  of  assent  wherewith  others  receive  them,  are  manifest 
proofs  that  they  are  not  innate,  and  such  as  offer  themselves 
to  their  view  without  searching. 

2.  Faith  and  justice  not  owned  as  principles  hy  all  men.  — 
Whether  there  be  any  such  moral  principles  wherein  all  men  do 
agree,  I appeal  to  any  who  have  been  but  moderately  conversant 
in  the  history  of  mankind,  and  looked  abroad  beyond  the  smoke 
of  their  own  chimneys.  Where  is  that  practical  truth  that  is  uni- 
versally received  without  doubt  or  question,  as  it  must  be  if 
innate?  Justice,  and  keeping  of  contracts,  is  that  which  most 
men  seem  to  agree  in.  This  is  a principle  which  is  thought  to 
extend  itself  to  the  dens  of  thieves,  and  the  confederacies  of  the 
greatest  villains ; and  they  who  have  gone  farthest  towards  the  put- 
ting off  of  humanity  itself,  keep  faith  and  rules  of  justice  one  with 
another.  I grant,  that  outlaws  themselves  do  this  one  amongst 
another;  but  it  is  without  receiving  these  as  the  innate  laws  of 
nature.  They  practise  them  as  rules  of  convenience  within  their 
own  communities;  but  it  is  impossible  to  conceive  that  he  em- 
braces justice  as  a practical  principle  who  acts  fairly  with  his 
fellow-highwayman,  and  at  the  same  time  plunders  or  kills  the 
next  honest  man  he  meets  with.  Justice  and  truth  are  the  com- 
mon ties  of  society ; and  therefore  even  outlaws  and  robbers,  who 
break  with  all  the  world  besides,  must  keep  faith  and  rules  of 
equity  amongst  themselves,  or  else  they  cannot  hold  together. 
But  will  any  one  say,  that  those  that  live  by  fraud  and  rapine  have 
innate  principles  of  truth  and  justice,  which  they  allow  and  assent 
to? 

3.  Objection.  “ Though  men  deny  them  in  their  practice,  yet  they 
admit  them  in  their  thoughts,”  answered. — Perhaps  it  will  be 
urged,  that  the  tacit  assent  of  their  minds  agrees  to  what  their 
practice  contradicts.  I answer.  First,  I have  always  thought  the 
actions  of  men  the  best  interpreters  of  their  thoughts;  but  since  it 
is  certain  that  most  men’s  practice,  and  some  men’s  open  profes- 
sions, have  either  questioned  or  denied  these  principles,  it  is 
impossible  to  establish  an  universal  consent  (though  we  should 


296  JOHN  LOCKE 

look  for  it  only  amongst  grown  men) ; without  which  it  is  impos- 
sible to  conclude  them  innate.  Secondly,  It  is  very  strange  and 
unreasonable  to  suppose  innate  practical  principles  that  terminate 
only  in  contemplation.  Practical  principles  derived  from  nature 
are  there  for  operation,  and  must  produce  conformity  of  action, 
not  barely  speculative  assent  to  their  truth,  or  else  they  are  in 
vain  distinguished  from  speculative  maxims.  Nature,  I confess, 
has  put  into  man  a desire  of  happiness,  and  an  aversion  to  misery ; 
these,  indeed,  are  innate  practical  principles,  which,  as  practical 
principles  ought,  do  continue  constantly  to  operate  and  influence 
all  our  actions  without  ceasing;  these  may  be  observed  in  all  per- 
sons and  all  ages,  steady  and  universal ; but  these  are  inclinations 
of  the  appetite  to  good,  not  impressions  of  truth  on  the  under- 
standing. I deny  not  that  there  are  natural  tendencies  imprinted 
on  the  minds  of  men;  and  that,  from  the  very  first  instances  of 
sense  and  perception,  there  are  some  things  that  are  grateful  and 
others  unwelcome  to  them;  some  things  that  they  incline  to,  and 
others  that  they  fly ; but  this  makes  nothing  for  innate  characters 
on  the  mind,  which  are  to  be  the  principles  of  knowledge,  regu- 
lating our  practice. 

4.  Moral  rides  need  a proof;  ergo,  not  innate.  — Another  reason 
that  makes  me  doubt  of  any  innate  principles,  is,  that  I think 
there  cannot  any  one  moral  rule  be  proposed  whereof  a man  may 
not  justly  demand  a reason;  which  would  be  perfectly  ridiculous 
and  absurd,  if  they  were  innate,  or  so  much  as  self-evident;  which 
every  innate  principle  must  needs  be,  and  not  need  any  proof  to 
ascertain  its  truth,  nor  want  any  reason  to  gain  it  approbation. 
He  would  be  thought  void  of  common  sense  who  asked  on  the  one 
side,  or  on  the  other  side  went  to  give  a reason,  why  it  is  impos- 
sible for  the  same  thing  to  be,  and  not  to  be.  It  carries  its  own 
light  and  evidence  with  it,  and  needs  no  other  proof;  he  that 
understands  the  terms  assents  to  it  for  its  own  sake,  or  else  no- 
thing will  ever  be  able  to  prevail  with  him  to  do  it.  But  should 
that  most  unshaken  rule  of  morality,  and  foundation  of  all  social 
virtue,  “ That  one  should  do  as  he  would  be  done  unto,”  be  pro- 
posed to  one  who  never  heard  it  before,  but  yet  is  of  capacity  to 
understand  its  meaning;  might  he  not  without  any  absurdity  ask 


ESSAY  ON  HUMAN  UNDERSTANDING  297 

a reason  why  ? and  were  not  he  that  proposed  it  bound  to  make 
out  the  truth  and  reasonableness  of  it  to  him?  which  plainly 
shows  it  not  to  be  innate;  for  if  it  were,  it  could  neither  want  nor 
receive  any  proof,  but  must  needs  (at  least  as  soon  as  heard  and 
understood)  be  received  and  assented  to  as  an  unquestionable 
truth,  which  a man  can  by  no  means  doubt  of.  So  that  the  truth 
of  all  these  moral  rules  plainly  depends  upon  some  other  ante- 
cedent to  them,  and  from  which  they  must  be  deduced,  which 
could  not  be  if  either  they  were  innate,  or  so  much  as  self-evident. 

13.  . . . Principles  of  actions,  indeed,  there  are  lodged  in  men’s 
appetites ; but  these  are  so  far  from  being  innate  moral  princi- 
ples, that,  if  they  were  left  to  their  full  swing,  they  would  carry 
men  to  the  overturning  of  all  morality.  Moral  laws  are  sent  as  a 
curb  and  restraint  to  these  exorbitant  desires,  which  they  cannot 
be  but  by  rewards  and  punishments  that  will  overbalance  the  sat- 
isfaction any  one  shall  propose  to  himself  in  the  breach  of  the  law. 
If  therefore  anything  be  imprinted  on  the  mind  of  all  men  as  a law, 
all  men  must  have  a certain  and  unavoidable  knowledge  that 
certain  and  unavoidable  punishment  will  attend  the  breach  of  it. 
For  if  men  can  be  ignorant  or  doubtful  of  what  is  innate,  innate 
principles  are  insisted  on  and  urged  to  no  purpose;  truth  and 
certainty  (the  things  pretended)  are  not  at  all  secured  by  them ; 
but  men  are  in  the  same  uncertain,  floating  estate  with  as  without 
them.  An  evident,  indubitable  knowledge  of  unavoidable  punish- 
ment, great  enough  to  make  the  transgression  very  uneligible, 
must  accompany  an  innate  law ; unless  with  an  innate  law  they 
can  suppose  an  innate  gospel  too.  I would  not  be  here  mistaken, 
as  if,  because  I deny  an  innate  law,  I thought  there  were  none 
but  positive  laws.  There  is  a great  deal  of  difference  betw^een 
an  innate  law  and  a law  of  nature ; between  something  imprinted 
on  our  minds  in  this  very  original,  and  something  that  we,  being 
ignorant  of,  may  attain  to  the  knowledge  of  by  the  use  and  due 
application  of  our  natural  faculties.  And,  I think,  they  equally 
forsake  the  truth  who,  running  into  the  contrary  extremes,  either 
affirm  an  innate  law,  or  deny  that  there  is  a law  knowable  by  the 
light  ot  naturv,;  that  is,  without  the  help  of  positive  revelation. 


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BOOK  II.  CHAPTER  XX.  OF  MODES  OF 
PLEASURE  AND  PAIN 

1.  Pleasure  and  pain  simple  ideas.  — Amongst  the  simple  ideas 
which  we  receive  both  from  sensation  and  reflection,  pain  and 
pleasure  are  two  very  considerable  ones.  For  as  in  the  body 
there  is  sensation  barely  in  itself,  or  accompanied  with  pain  or 
pleasure;  so  the  thought  or  perception  of  the  mind  is  simply  so, 
or  else  accompanied  also  with  pleasure  or  pain,  delight  or  trouble, 
call  it  how  you  please.  These,  like  other  simple  ideas,  cannot  be 
described,  nor  their  names  defined ; the  way  of  knowing  them  is, 
as  of  the  simple  ideas  of  the  senses,  only  by  experience.  For  to 
define  them  by  the  presence  of  good  or  evil,  is  no  otherwise  to 
make  them  known  to  us  than  by  making  us  reflect  on  what  we 
feel  in  ourselves,  upon  the  several  and  various  operations  of  good 
and  evil  upon  our  minds,  as  they  are  differently  applied  to  or  con- 
sidered by  us. 

2.  Good  and  evil,  what.  — Things  then  are  good  or  evil  only 
in  reference  to  pleasure  or  pain.  That  we  call  “ good,”  which  is 
apt  to  cause  or  increase  pleasure,  or  diminish  pain,  in  us ; or  else 
to  procure  or  preserve  us  the  possession  of  any  other  good,  or 
absence  of  any  evil.  And,  on  the  contrary,  we  name  that  “evil,” 
which  is  apt  to  produce  or  increase  any  pain,  or  diminish  any 
pleasure,  in  us;  or  else  to  procure  us  any  evil,  or  deprive  us  of 
any  good.  By  “pleasure”  and  “ pain,”  I must  be  understood  to 
mean  of  body  or  mind,  as  they  are  commonly  distinguished; 
though,  in  truth,  they  be  only  different  constitutions  of  the  mind, 
sometimes  occasioned  by  disorder  in  the  body,  sometimes  by 
thoughts  in  the  mind. 

3.  Our  passions  moved  by  good  and  evil.  — Pleasure  and  pain, 
and  that  which  causes  them,  good  and  evil,  are  the  hinges  on 
which  our  passions  turn : and  if  we  reflect  on  ourselves,  and  ob- 
serve how  these,  under  various  considerations,  operate  in  us,  — 
what  modifications  or  tempers  of  mind,  what  internal  sensations 
(if  I may  so  call  them)  they  produce  in  us,  — we  may  thence  form 
to  ourselves  the  ideas  of  our  passions. 


ESSAY  ON  HUMAN  UNDERSTANDING  299 

6.  Desire.  — The  uneasiness  a man  finds  in  himself  upon  the 
absence  of  anything  whose  present  enjoyment  carries  the  idea 
of  delight  with  it,  is  that  we  call  “ desire,”  which  is  greater  or  less 
as  that  uneasiness  is  more  or  less  vehement.  Where,  by  the  by, 
it  may  perhaps  be  of  some  use  to  remark,  that  the  chief,  if  not 
only,  spur  to  human  industry  and  action  is  uneasiness : for,  what- 
ever good  is  proposed,  if  its  absence  carries  no  displeasure  nor 
pain  with  it,  if  a man  be  easy  and  content  without  it,  there  is  no 
desire  of  it,  nor  endeavour  after  it;  there  is  no  more  but  a bare 
velleiiy,  — the  term  used  to  signify  the  lowest  degree  of  desire, 
and  that  which  is  next  to  none  at  all,  when  there  is  so  little 
uneasiness  in  the  absence  of  anything,  that  it  carries  a man  no 
farther  than  some  faint  wishes  for  it,  without  any  more  effectual 
or  vigorous  use  of  the  means  to  attain  it.  Desire  also  is  stopped 
or  abated  by  the  opinion  of  the  impossibility  or  unattainableness 
of  the  good  proposed,  as  far  as  the  uneasiness  is  cured  or  allayed 
by  that  consideration.  This  might  carry  our  thoughts  farther, 
were  it  seasonable  in  this  place. 


CHJPTER  XXI.  OF  POWER 

7.  Whence  the  ideas  of  liberty  and  necessity.  — Every  one,  I 
think,  finds  in  himself  a power  to  begin  or  forbear,  continue  or 
put  an  end  to,  several  actions  in  himself.  From  the  consideration 
of  the  extent  of  this  power  of  the  mind  over  the  actions  of  the 
man,  which  every  one  finds  in  himself,  arise  the  ideas  of  liberty 
and  necessity. 

12.  Liberty,  what.  — As  it  is  in  the  motions  of  the  body,  so  it  is 
in  the  thoughts  of  our  minds:  where  any  one  is  such,  that  we 
have  power  to  take  it  up,  or  lay  it  by,  according  to  the  preference 
of  the  mind,  there  we  are  at  liberty.  A waking  man,  being  under 
the  necessity  of  having  some  ideas  constantly  in  his  mind,  is  not 
at  liberty  to  think,  or  not  to  think,  no  more  than  he  is  at  liberty, 
whether  his  body  shall  touch  any  other  or  no:  but  whether  he 
will  remove  his  contemplation  from  one  idea  to  another,  is  many 
times  in  his  choice;  and  then  he  is,  in  respect  of  his  ideas,  as  much 


300 


JOHN  LOCKE 

at  liberty  as  he  is  in  respect  of  bodies  he  rests  on : he  can  at  plea- 
sure remove  himself  from  one  to  another.  But  yet  some  ideas 
to  the  mind,  like  some  motions  to  the  body,  are  such  as  in  certain 
circumstances  it  cannot  avoid,  nor  obtain  their  absence  by  the 
utmost  effort  it  can  use.  A man  on  the  rack  is  not  at  liberty  to  lay 
by  the  idea  of  pain,  and  divert  himself  with  other  contemplations. 

13.  Necessity,  what.  — Wherever  thought  is  wholly  wanting, 
or  the  power  to  act  or  forbear  according  to  the  direction  of 
thought,  there  necessity  takes  place.  This,  in  an  agent  capable 
of  volition,  when  the  beginning  or  continuation  of  any  action  is 
contrary  to  that  preference  of  his  mind,  is  called  “compulsion;  ” 
when  the  hindering  or  stopping  any  action  is  contrary  to  this  voli- 
tion, it  is  called  “restraint.”  Agents  that  have  no  thought,  no 
volition  at  all,  are  in  everything  necessary  agents. 

14.  Liberty  belongs  not  to  the  will.  — If  this  be  so  (as  I imagine 
it  is),  I leave  it  to  be  considered,  whether  it  may  not  help  to  put 
an  end  to  that  long  agitated,  and  I think  unreasonable,  because 
unintelligible  question,  viz..  Whether  man’s  will  be  free  or  no? 
For,  if  I mistake  not,  it  follows,  from  what  I have  said,  that  the 
question  itself  is  altogether  improper;  and  it  is  as  insignificant 
to  ask  whether  man’s  will  be  free,  as  to  ask  whether  his  sleep  be 
swift,  or  his  virtue  square ; liberty  being  as  little  applicable  to  the 
will,  as  swiftness  of  motion  is  to  sleep,  or  squareness  to  virtue. 
Every  one  would  laugh  at  the  absurdity  of  such  a question  as 
either  of  these;  because  it  is  obvious  that  the  modifications  of 
motion  belong  not  to  sleep,  nor  the  difference  of  figure  to  virtue : 
and  when  any  one  well  considers  it,  I think  he  will  as  plainly  per- 
ceive, that  liberty,  which  is  but  a power,  belongs  only  to  agents, 
and  cannot  be  an  attribute  or  modification  of  the  will,  which  is 
also  but  a power. 

15.  Volition.  — Such  is  the  difficulty  of  explaining  and  giving 
clear  notions  of  internal  actions  by  sounds,  that  I must  here  warn 
my  reader  that  “ ordering,  directing,  choosing,  preferring,”  &c. 
which  I have  made  use  of,  will  not  distinctly  enough  express 
volition,  unless  he  will  reflect  on  what  he  himself  does  when  he 
wills.  For  example:  “Preferring,”  which  seems  perhaps  best  to 
express  the  act  of  volition,  does  it  not  precisely.  Fcr  though  a 


ESSAY  ON  HUMAN  UNDERSTANDING  301 

man  would  prefer  flying  to  walking,  yet  who  can  say  he  ever  wills 
it?  Volition,  it  is  plain,  is  an  act  of  the  mind  knowingly  exerting 
that  dominion  it  takes  itself  to  have  over  any  part  of  the  man, 
by  employing  it  in  or  withholding  it  from  any  particular  action. 
And  what  is  the  will,  but  the  faculty  to  do  this?  And  is  that 
faculty  anything  more  in  effect  than  a power,  — the  power  of  the 
mind  to  determine  its  thought  to  the  producing,  continuing,  or 
stopping  any  action,  as  far  as  it  depends  on  us?  For,  can  it  be 
denied,  that  whatever  agent  has  a power  to  think  on  its  own 
actions,  and  to  prefer  their  doing  or  omission  either  to  other,  has 
that  faculty  called  “will”?  Will  then  is  nothing  but  such  a power. 
Liberty,  on  the  other  side,  is  the  power  a man  has  to  do  or  for- 
bear doing  any  particular  action,  according  as  its  doing  or  for- 
bearance has  the  actual  preference  in  the  mind ; which  is  the  same 
thing  as  to  say,  according  as  he  himself  wills  it. 

16.  Powers  belong  to  agents.  — It  is  plain  then  that  the  will  is 
nothing  but  one  power  or  ability,  and  freedom  another  power  or 
ability:  so  that  to  ask  whether  the  will  has  freedom,  is  to  ask 
whether  one  power  has  another  power,  one  ability  another 
ability?  a question  at  first  sight  too  grossly  absurd  to  make  a 
dispute,  or  need  an  answer.  For  who  is  it  that  sees  not,  that 
powers  belong  only  to  agents,  and  are  attributes  only  of  sub- 
stances, and  not  of  powers  themselves  ? So  that  this  way  of  put- 
ting the  question,  viz..  Whether  the  will  be  free  ? is  in  effect  to  ask. 
Whether  the  will  be  a substance,  an  agent  ? or  at  least  to  suppose 
it,  since  freedom  can  properly  be  attributed  to  nothing  else.  If 
freedom  can  with  any  propriety  of  speech  be  applied  to  power, 
it  may  be  attributed  to  the  power  that  is  in  a man  to  produce  or 
forbear  producing  motions  in  parts  of  his  body,  by  choice  or 
preference;  which  is  that  which  denominates  him  free,  and  is 
freedom  itself.  But  if  any  one  should  ask  whether  freedom  were 
free,  he  would  be  suspected  not  to  understand  well  what  he  said ; 
and  he  would  be  thought  to  deserve  Midas’s  ears,  who,  knowing 
that  “ rich  ” was  a denomination  from  the  possession  of  riches, 
should  demand  whether  riches  themselves  were  rich. 

29.  What  determines  the  will.  — The  will  being  nothing  but 
a power  in  the  mind  to  direct  the  operative  faculties  of  a man 


302 


JOHN  LOCKE 

to  motion  or  rest,  as  far  as  they  depend  on  such  direction ; to  the 
question,  “ What  is  it  determines  the  will  ? ” the  true  and  proper 
answer  is.  The  mind.  For  that  which  determines  the  general 
power  of  directing  to  this  or  that  particular  direction,  is  nothing 
but  the  agent  itself  exercising  the  power  it  has  that  particular  way. 
If  this  answer  satisfies  not,  it  is  plain  the  meaning  of  the  question, 
“ What  determines  the  will  ? ” is  this,  “ What  moves  the  mind  in 
every  particular  instance  to  determine  its  general  power  of  direct- 
ing to  this  or  that  particular  motion  or  rest?”  And  to  this  I 
answer.  The  motive  for  continuing  in  the  same  state  or  action  is 
only  the  present  satisfaction  in  it;  the  motive  to  change  is  always 
some  uneasiness : nothing  setting  us  upon  the  change  of  state,  or 
upon  any  new  action,  but  some  uneasiness.  This  is  the  great 
motive  that  works  on  the  mind  to  put  it  upon  action,  which  for 
shortness’  sake  we  will  call  “ determining  of  the  will;”  which  I 
shall  more  at  large  explain. 

33.  The  uneasiness  of  desire  determines  the  will.  — Good  and 
evil,  present  and  absent,  it  is  true,  work  upon  the  mind;  but  that 
which  immediately  determines  the  will,  from  time  to  time,  to 
every  voluntary  action,  is  the  uneasiness  of  desire,  fixed  on  some 
absent  good,  either  negative,  as  indolency  to  one  in  pain,  or 
positive,  as  enjoyment  of  pleasure.  That  it  is  this  uneasiness 
that  determines  the  will  to  the  successive  voluntary  actions 
whereof  the  greatest  part  of  our  lives  is  made  up,  and  by  which 
we  are  conducted  through  different  courses  to  different  ends, 
I shall  endeavour  to  show  both  from  experience  and  the  reason 
of  the  thing. 

35.  The  greatest  positive  good  determines  not  the  will,  but  un- 
easiness. — It  seems  so  established  and  settled  a maxim,  by  the 
general  consent  of  all  mankind,  that  good,  the  greater  good, 
determines  the  will,  that  I do  not  at  all  wonder  that,  when  I first 
published  my  thoughts  on  this  subject,  I took  it  for  granted;  and 
I imagine,  that  by  a great  many  I shall  be  thought  more  excusable 
for  having  then  done  so,  than  that  now  I have  ventured  to  recede 
from  so  received  an  opinion.  But  yet  upon  a stricter  inquiry, 
I am  forced  to  conclude  that  good,  the  greater  good,  though 
apprehended  and  acknowledged  to  be  so,  does  not  determine  the 


ESSAY  ON  HUMAN  UNDERSTANDING  303 

will  until  our  desire,  raised  proportionably  to  it,  makes  us  uneasy 
in  the  want  of  it.  Convince  a man  never  so  much  that  plenty  has 
its  advantages  over  poverty;  make  him  see  and  own  that  the 
handsome  conveniences  of  life  are  better  than  nasty  penury ; yet 
as  long  as  he  is  content  with  the  latter,  and  finds  no  uneasiness  in 
it,  he  moves  not;  his  will  is  never  determined  to  any  action  that 
shall  bring  him  out  of  it.  Let  a man  be  never  so  well  persuaded 
of  the  advantages  of  virtue,  that  it  is  as  necessary  to  a man  who 
has  any  great  aims  in  this  world  or  hopes  in  the  next,  as  food  to 
life;  yet  till  he  “hungers  and  thirsts  after  righteousness,”  till 
he  feels  an  uneasiness  in  the  want  of  it,  his  will  will  not  be  de- 
termined to  any  action  in  pursuit  of  this  confessed  greater  good; 
but  any  other  uneasiness  he  feels  in  himself  shall  take  place  and 
carry  his  will  to  other  actions. 

41.  All  desire  happiness.  — If  it  be  farther  asked,  what  it  is 
moves  desire?  I answer.  Happiness,  and  that  alone.  “Happi- 
ness” and  “misery”  are  the  names  of  two  extremes,  the  utmost 
bounds  whereof  we  know  not:  it  is  what  “eye  hath  not  seen, 
ear  hath  not  heard,  nor  hath  it  entered  into  the  heart  of  man  to 
conceive.”  But  of  some  degrees  of  both  we  have  very  lively  im- 
pressions, made  by  several  instances  of  delight  and  joy  on  the 
one  side,  and  torment  and  sorrow  on  the  other;  which,  for  short- 
ness’ sake,  I shall  comprehend  under  the  names  of  “pleasure” 
and  “pain,”  there  being  pleasure  and  pain  of  the  mind  as  well 
as  the  body : “ With  him  is  fulness  of  joy,  and  pleasure  for  ever- 
more:” or,  to  speak  truly,  they  are  all  of  the  mind;  though  some 
have  their  rise  in  the  mind  from  thought,  others  in  the  body  from 
certain  modifications  of  motion. 

42.  Happiness,  what.  — Happiness,  then,  in  its  full  extent, 
is  the  utmost  pleasure  we  are  capable  of,  and  misery  the  utmost 
pain;  and  the  lowest  degree  of  what  can  be  called  “happiness” 
is  so  much  ease  from  all  pain,  and  so  much  present  pleasure, 
as  without  which  any  one  cannot  be  content.  Now,  because 
pleasure  and  pain  are  produced  in  us  by  the  operation  of  cer- 
tain objects  either  on  our  minds  or  our  bodies,  and  in  different 
degrees,  therefore  what  has  an  aptness  to  produce  pleasure  in  us 
is  that  we  call  “ good,”  and  what  is  apt  to  produce  pain  in  us  we 


3°4 


JOHN  LOCKE 

call  “evil;”  for  no  other  reason  but  for  its  aptness  to  produce 
pleasure  and  pain  in  us,  wherein  consists  our  happiness  and 
misery.  Farther,  though  what  is  apt  to  produce  any  degree  of 
pleasure  be  in  itself  good,  and  what  is  apt  to  produce  any  degree 
of  pain  be  evil,  yet  it  often  happens  that  we  do  not  call  it  so  when 
it  comes  in  competition  with  a greater  of  its  sort;  because  when 
they  come  in  competition,  the  degrees  also  of  pleasure  and  pain 
have  justly  a preference.  So  that  if  we  will  rightly  estimate  what 
we  call  “good”  and  “evil,”  we  shall  find  it  lies  much  in  com- 
parison : for  the  cause  of  every  less  degree  of  pain,  as  well  as 
every  greater  degree  of  pleasure,  has  the  nature  of  good  and 
vice  versa. 

43.  What  good  is  desired,  what  not.  — Though  this  be  that 
which  is  called  “good”  and  “evil,”  and  all  good  be  the  proper 
object  of  desire  in  general,  yet  all  good,  even  seen  and  confessed 
to  be  so,  does  not  necessarily  move  every  particular  man’s  desire ; 
but  only  that  part,  or  so  much  of  it,  as  is  considered  and  taken 
to  make  a necessary  part  of  his  happiness.  . . . 

Thus  how  much  soever  men  are  in  earnest  and  constant  in 
pursuit  of  happiness,  yet  they  may  have  a clear  view  of  good, 
great  and  confessed  good,  without  being  concerned  for  it,  or 
moved  by  it,  if  they  think  they  can  make  up  their  happiness 
without  it.  Though  as  to  pain,  that  they  are  always  concerned 
for;  they  can  feel  no  uneasiness  without  being  moved.  And 
therefore,  being  uneasy  in  the  want  of  whatever  is  judged  neces- 
sary to  their  happiness,  as  soon  as  any  good  appears  to  make  a 
part  of  their  portion  of  happiness,  they  begin  to  desire  it. 

46.  Due  consideration  raises  desire.  — And  thus,  by  a due 
consideration,  and  examining  any  good  proposed,  it  is  in  our 
power  to  raise  our  desires  in  a due  proportion  to  the  value  of  that 
good  whereby,  in  its  turn  and  place,  it  may  come  to  work  upon 
the  will,  and  be  pursued.  For  good,  though  appearing  and  al- 
lowed ever  so  great,  yet  till  it  has  raised  desires  in  our  minds, 
and  thereby  made  us  uneasy  in  its  want,  it  reaches  not  our  wills, 
we  are  not  within  the  sphere  of  its  activity;  our  wills  being  under 
the  determination  only  of  those  uneasinesses  which  are  present 
to  us,  which  (whilst  we  have  any)  are  always  soliciting,  and  ready 


ESSAY  ON  HUMAN  UNDERSTANDING  305 

at  hand  to  give  the  will  its  next  determination;  the  balancing, 
when  there  is  any  in  the  mind,  being  only,  which  desire  shall  be 
next  satisfied,  which  uneasiness  first  removed. 

51.  The  necessity  of  pursuing  true  happiness,  the  foundation 
of  all  liberty.  — As  therefore  the  highest  perfection  of  intellectual 
nature  lies  in  a careful  and  constant  pursuit  of  true  and  solid 
happiness,  so  the  care  of  ourselves,  that  we  mistake  not  imagi- 
nary for  real  happiness,  is  the  necessary  foundation  of  our  lib- 
erty. The  stronger  ties  we  have  to  an  unalterable  pursuit  of 
happiness  in  general,  which  is  our  greatest  good,  and  which,  as 
such,  our  desires  always  follow,  the  more  are  we  free  from  any 
necessary  determination  of  our  will,  to  any  particular  action, 
and  from  a necessary  compliance  with  our  desire  set  upon  any 
particular  and  then  appearing  preferable  good,  till  we  have  duly 
examined  whether  it  has  a tendency  to  or  be  inconsistent  with 
our  real  happiness : and  therefore  till  we  are  as  much  informed 
upon  this  inquiry  as  the  weight  of  the  matter  and  the  nature 
of  the  case  demands,  we  are,  by  the  necessity  of  preferring  and 
pursuing  true  happiness  as  our  greatest  good,  obliged  to  suspend 
the  satisfaction  of  our  desire  in  particular  cases. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII.  OF  OTHER  RELATIONS 

4.  Moral. — There  is  another  sort  of  relation,  which  is  the  con- 
formity or  disagreement  men’s  voluntary  actions  have  to  a rule 
to  which  they  are  referred,  and  by  which  they  are  judged  of; 
which,  I think,  may  be  called  “moral  relation,”  as  being  that 
which  denominates  our  moral  actions,  and  deserves  well  to  be 
examined,  there  being  no  part  of  knowledge  wherein  we  should 
be  more  careful  to  get  determined  ideas,  and  avoid,  as  much  as 
may  be,  obscurity  and  confusion.  Human  actions,  when,  with 
their  various  ends,  objects,  manners,  and  circumstances,  they 
are  framed  into  distinct  complex  ideas,  are,  as  has  been  shown, 
so  many  mixed  modes,  a great  part  whereof  have  names  affixed 
to  them.  Thus,  supposing  gratitude  to  be  a readiness  to  acknow- 
ledge and  return  kindness  received;  polygamy  to  be  the  having 


3o6  JOHN  LOCKE 

more  wives  than  one  at  once : when  we  frame  these  notions  thus 
in  our  minds,  we  have  there  so  many  determined  ideas  of  mixed 
modes.  But  this  is  not  all  that  concerns  our  actions;  it  is  not 
enough  to  have  determined  ideas  of  them,  and  to  know  what 
names  belong  to  such  and  such  combinations  of  ideas.  We  have 
a farther  and  greater  concernment ; and  that  is,  to  know  whether 
such  actions  so  made  up  are  morally  good  or  bad. 

5.  Moral  good  and  evil.  — Good  and  evil,  as  hath  been  shown 
(book  ii.  chap.  xx.  sect.  2,  and  chap.  xxi.  sect.  42),  are  nothing 
but  pleasure  or  pain,  or  that  which  occasions  or  procures  plea- 
sure or  pain  to  us.  Moral  good  and  evil,  then,  is  only  the  con- 
formity or  disagreement  of  our  voluntary  actions  to  some  law, 
whereby  good  and  evil  is  drawn  on  us  from  the  will  and  power 
of  the  law-maker;  which  good  and  evil,  pleasure  or  pain,  attend- 
ing our  observance  or  breach  of  the  law,  by  the  decree  of  the  law- 
maker, is  that  we  call  “reward”  and  “punishment.” 

6.  Moral  rules.  — Of  these  moral  rules  or  laws,  to  which 
men  generally  refer,  and  by  which  they  judge  of  the  rectitude 
or  pravity  of  their  actions,  there  seem  to  me  to  be  three  sorts, 
with  their  three  different  enforcements,  or  rewards  and  punish- 
ments. For  since  it  would  be  utterly  in  vain  to  suppose  a rule 
set  to  the  free  actions  of  man,  without  annexing  to  it  some  en- 
forcement of  good  and  evil  to  determine  his  will,  we  must  wher- 
ever we  suppose  a law,  suppose  also  some  reward  or  punishment 
annexed  to  that  law.  It  would  be  in  vain  for  one  intelligent  being 
to  set  a rule  to  the  actions  of  another,  if  he  had  it  not  in  his  power 
to  reward  the  compliance  with,  and  punish  deviation  from,  his 
rule,  by  some  good  and  evil  that  is  not  the  natural  product  and 
consequence  of  the  action  itself.  For  that,  being  a natural  con- 
venience or  inconvenience,  would  operate  of  itself  wiihout  a law. 
This,  if  I mistake  not,  is  the  true  nature  of  all  law,  properly  so 
called. 

7.  Laws.  — The  laws  that  men  generally  refer  their  actions 
to,  to  judge  of  their  rectitude  or  obliquity,  seem  to  me  to  be  these 
three:  (i)  The  divine  law.  (2)  The  civil  law.  (3)  The  law  of 
opinion  or  reputation,  if  I may  so  call  it.  By  the  relation  they 
bear  to  the  first  of  these,  men  judge  whether  their  actions  are  sins 


ESSAY  ON  HUMAN  UNDERSTANDING  307 

or  duties;  by  the  second,  whether  they  be  criminal  or  innocent; 
and  by  the  third,  whether  they  be  virtues  or  vices. 

8.  Divine  law,  the  measure  of  sin  and  duty.  — First,  The  di- 
vine law,  whereby  I mean  the  law  which  God  has  set  to  the  ac- 
tions of  men,  whether  promulgated  to  them  by  the  light  of  nature, 
or  the  voice  of  revelation.  That  God  has  given  a rule  whereby 
men  should  govern  themselves,  I think  there  is  nobody  so  brutish 
as  to  deny.  He  has  a right  to  do  it;  we  are  his  creatures.  He  has 
goodness  and  wisdom  to  direct  our  actions  to  that  which  is  best ; 
and  he  has  power  to  enforce  it  by  rewards  and  punishments,  of 
infinite  weight  and  duration,  in  another  life ; for  nobody  can  take 
us  out  of  his  hands.  This  is  the  only  true  touchstone  of  moral 
rectitude;  and  by  comparing  them  to  this  law  it  is  that  men  judge 
of  the  most  considerable  moral  good  or  evil  of  their  actions;  that 
is,  whether  as  duties  or  sins  they  are  like  to  procure  them  happi- 
ness or  misery  from  the  hands  of  the  Almighty. 

9.  Civil  law,  the  measure  of  crimes  and  innocence.  — Secondly, 
The  civil  law,  the  rule  set  by  the  commonwealth  to  the  actions 
of  those  who  belong  to  it,  is  another  rule  to  which  men  refer  their 
actions,  to  judge  whether  they  be  criminal  or  no.  This  law  no- 
body overlooks;  the  rewards  and  punishments  that  enforce  it 
being  ready  at  hand,  and  suitable  to  the  power  that  makes  it; 
which  is  the  force  of  the  commonwealth,  engaged  to  protect  the 
lives,  liberties,  and  possessions  of  those  who  live  according  to 
its  laws,  and  has  power  to  take  away  life,  liberty,  or  goods  from 
him  who  disobeys;  which  is  the  punishment  of  offences  com- 
mitted against  this  law. 

10.  Philosophical  law,  the  measure  of  virtue  and  vice.  — 
Thirdly,  The  law  of  opinion  or  reputation.  “Virtue”  and  “vice” 
are  names  pretended  and  supposed  everywhere  to  stand  for 
actions  in  their  own  nature  right  or  wrong:  and  as  far  as  they 
really  are  so  applied,  they  so  far  are  coincident  with  the  divine 
law  above  mentioned.  But  yet,  whatever  is  pretended,  this  is 
visible,  that  these  names,  “virtue”  and  “vice,”  in  the  particular 
instances  of  their  application,  through  the  several  nations  and 
societies  of  men  in  the  world,  are  constantly  attributed  only  to 
such  actions  as  in  each  country  and  society  are  in  reputation  or 


3o8  JOHN  LOCKE 

discredit.  Nor  is  it  to  be  thought  strange,  that  men  everywhere 
should  give  the  name  of  “ virtue”  to  those  actions  which  amongst 
them  are  judged  praiseworthy;; and  call  that  “vice,”  which  they 
account  blameable : since  otherwise  they  would  condemn  them- 
selves, if  they  should  think  anything  right,  to  which  they  allowed 
not  condemnation;  anything  wrong,  which  they  let  pass  with- 
out blame.  Thus  the  measure  of  what  is  everywhere  called  and 
esteemed  “virtue”  and  “vice,”  is  this  approbation  or  dislike, 
praise  or  blame,  which,  by  a secret  and  tacit  consent  establishes 
itself  in  the  several  societies,  tribes,  and  clubs  of  men  in  the 
world,  whereby  several  actions  come  to  find  credit  or  disgrace 
amongst  them,  according  to  the  judgment,  maxims,  or  fashions 
of  that  place.  For  though  men  uniting  into  politic  societies  have 
resigned  up  to  the  public  the  disposing  of  all  their  force,  so  that 
they  cannot  employ  it  against  any  fellow -citizen  any  farther  than 
the  law  of  the  country  directs;  yet  they  retain  still  the  power  of 
thinking  well  or  ill,  approving  or  disapproving,  of  the  actions  of 
those  whom  they  live  amongst,  and  converse  with;  and  by  this 
approbation  and  dislike,  they  establish  amongst  themselves  what 
they  will  call  “virtue”  and  “vice.” 

II.  That  this  is  the  common  measure  of  virtue  and  vice,  will 
appear  to  any  one  who  considers,  that  though  that  passes  for 
vice  in  one  country  which  is  counted  a virtue,  or  at  least  not  vice, 
in  another;  yet  everywhere  virtue  and  praise,  vice  and  blame,  go 
together.  Virtue  is  everywhere  that  which  is  thought  praise- 
worthy; and  nothing  else  but  that  which  has  the  allowance  of 
public  esteem  is  called  “virtue.”.  . . 

For  since  nothing  can  be  more  natural  than  to  encourage  with 
esteem  and  reputation  that  wherein  every  one  finds  his  advantage, 
and  to  blame  and  discountenance  the  contrary,  it  is  no  Vv^onder 
that  esteem  and  discredit,  virtue  and  vice,  should  in  a great  mea- 
sure everywhere  correspond  with  the  unchangeable  rule  of  right 
and  wrong  which  the  law  of  God  hath  established ; there  being 
nothing  that  so  directly  and  visibly  secures  and  advances  the 
general  good  of  mankind  in  this  world,  as  obedience  to  the  laws 
he  has  set  them,  and  nothing  that  breeds  such  mischiefs  and 
confusion  as  the  neglect  of  them.  And  therefore  men,  without 


ESSAY  ON  HUMAN  UNDERSTANDING  309 

renouncing  all  sense  and  reason,  and  their  own  interest,  which 
they  are  so  constantly  true  to,  could  not  generally  mistake  in 
placing  their  commendation  and  blame  on  that  side  that  really 
deserved  it  not.  Nay,  even  those  men  whose  practice  was  other- 
wise, failed  not  to  give  their  approbation  right,  fev/  being  de- 
praved to  that  degree  as  not  to  condemn,  at  least  in  others,  the 
faults  they  themselves  were  guilty  of : whereby,  even  in  the  cor- 
ruption of  manners,  the  true  boundaries  of  the  law  of  nature, 
which  ought  to  be  the  rule  of  virtue  and  vice,  were  pretty  well 
preserved.  So  that  even  the  exhortations  of  inspired  teachers 
have  not  feared  to  appeal  to  common  repute:  “Whatsoever  is 
lovely,  whatsoever  is  of  good  report,  if  there  be  any  virtue,  if  there 
be  any  praise,”  ‘ &c. 

12.  Its  enforcements,  commendation,  and  discredit.  — If  any 
one  shall  imagine  that  I have  forgot  my  own  notion  of  a law, 
when  I make  the  law  whereby  men  judge  of  virtue  and  vice  to 
be  nothing  else  but  the  consent  of  private  men  who  have  not  au- 
thority enough  to  make  a law;  especially  wanting  that  which  is 
so  necessary  and  essential  to  a law,  a power  to  enforce  it : I think 
I may  say,  that  he  who  imagines  commendation  and  disgrace 
not  to  be  strong  motives  on  men  to  accommodate  themselves 
to  the  opinions  and  rules  of  those  with  whom  they  converse, 
seems  little  skilled  in  the  nature  or  history  of  mankind : the  great- 
est part  whereof  he  shall  find  to  govern  themselves  chiefly,  if  not 
solely,  by  this  law  of  fashion;  and,  so  they  do  that  which  keeps 
them  in  reputation  with  their  company,  little  regard  the  laws 
of  God  or  the  magistrate.  . . . 

13.  These  three  laws  the  rules  oj  moral  good  and  evil.  — These 
three,  then.  First,  The  law  of  God,  Secondly,  The  law  of  politic 
societies,  Thirdly,  The  law  of  fashion,  or  private  censure  — 
are  those  to  which  men  variously  compare  their  actions : and 
it  is  by  their  conformity  to  one  of  these  laws  that  they  take 
their  measures,  when  they  would  judge  of  their  moral  rectitude, 
and  denominate  their  actions  good  or  bad. 


1 Phil.  iv.  8. 


SAMUEL  CLARKE 

(1675-1729) 

DISCOURSE  UPON  NATURAL 
RELIGION* 

I.  The  same  necessary  and  eternal  different  relations,  that  dif- 
ferent things  bear  one  to  another,  and  the  same  consequent  fitness 
or  unfitness  of  the  application  of  different  things  or  different 
relations  one  to  another,  with  regard  to  which,  the  will  of  God 
always  and  necessarily  does  determine  itself,  to  choose  to  act  only 
what  is  agreeable  to  justice,  equity,  goodness  and  truth,  in  order 
to  the  welfare  of  the  whole  universe,  ought  likewise  constantly 
to  determine  the  wills  of  all  subordinate  rational  beings,  to  gov- 
ern all  their  actions  by  the  same  rules,  for  the  good  of  the  public, 
in  their  respective  stations.  That  is,  these  eternal  and  necessary 
differences  of  things  make  it  fit  and  reasonable  for  creatures  so 
to  act;  they  cause  it  to  be  their  duty,  or  lay  an  obligation  upon 
them,  so  to  do,  even  separate  from  the  consideration  of  these 
rules  being  the  positive  will  or  command  of  God,  and  also  ante- 
cedent to  any  respect  or  regard,  expectation  or  apprehension, 
of  any  particular  private  and  personal  advantage  or  disadvan- 
tage, reward  or  punishment,  either  present  or  future,  annexed 
either  by  natural  consequence,  or  by  positive  appointment,  to 
the  practising  or  neglecting  of  those  rules. 

The  several  parts  of  this  proposition,  may  be  proved  distinctly, 
in  the  following  manner. 

I.  That  there  are  differences  of  things,  and  different  relations, 
respects  or  proportions,  of  some  things  towards  others,  is  as  evi- 
dent and  undeniable,  as  that  one  magnitude  or  number,  is  greater, 
equal  to,  or  smaller  than  another.  That  from  these  different  re- 
lations of  different  things,  there  necessarily  arises  an  agreement 
or  disagreement  of  some  things  with  others,  or  a fitness  or  un- 
fitness of  the  application  of  different  things  or  different  relations 

* From  Samuel  Clarke’s  A Discourse  concerning  the  Unchangeable  Obligations 
of  Natural  Religion,  London,  1706;  id.,  Works,  ib.,  1738. 


DISCOURSE  UPON  NATURAL  RELIGION  31 1 

one  to  another,  is  likewise  as  plain,  as  that  there  is  any  such  thing 
as  proportion  or  disproportion  in  geometry  and  arithmetic,  or 
uniformity  or  deformity  in  comparing  together  the  respective 
figures  of  bodies.  Further,  that  there  is  a fitness  or  suitableness 
of  certain  circumstances  to  certain  persons,  and  an  unsuitable- 
ness of  others,  founded  in  the  nature  of  things  and  the  qualifi- 
cations of  persons,  antecedent  to  all  positive  appointment  what- 
soever ; also  that  from  the  different  relations  of  different  persons 
one  to  another,  there  necessarily  arises  a fitness  or  unfitness  of 
certain  manners  of  behaviour  of  some  persons  towards  others,  is 
as  manifest,  as  that  the  properties  which  flow  from  the  essences 
of  different  mathematical  figures,  have  different  congruities  or 
incongruities  between  themselves,  or  that,  in  mechanics,  certain 
weights  or  powers  have  very  different  forces,  and  different  effects 
one  upon  another,  according  to  their  different  distances,  or  differ- 
ent positions  and  situations  in  respect  of  each  other.  For  in- 
stance : that  God  is  infinitely  superior  to  men,  is  as  clear,  as  that 
infinity  is  larger  than  a point,  or  eternity  longer  than  a moment. 
And  ’t  is  as  certainly  fit,  that  men  should  honour  and  worship, 
obey  and  imitate  God,  rather  than  on  the  contrary  in  all  their 
actions  endeavour  to  dishonour  and  disobey  Him,  as ’t  is  cer- 
tainly true,  that  they  have  an  entire  dependence  on  Him,  and 
He  on  the  contrary  can  in  no  respect  receive  any  advantage  from 
them;  and  not  only  so,  but  also  that  His  will  is  as  certainly 
and  unalterably  just  and  equitable  in  giving  His  commands,  as 
His  power  is  irresistible  in  requiring  submission  to  it. 

Again;  it  is  a thing  absolutely  and  necessarily  fitter  in  itself, 
that  the  supreme  Creator  of  the  universe,  should  govern,  order 
and  direct  all  things  to  certain  and  constant  regular  ends,  than 
that  everything  should  be  permitted  to  go  on  at  adventures, 
and  produce  uncertain  effects  merely  by  chance  and  in  the 
utmost  confusion,  without  any  determinate  view  or  design  at 
all.  ’T  is  a thing  manifestly  fitter  in  itself,  that  the  all-power- 
ful Governour  of  the  world,  should  do  always  what  is  best  in  the 
whole,  and  what  tends  most  to  the  universal  good  of  the  whole 
creation,  than  that  he  should  make  the  whole  continually  mis- 
erable; or  that,  to  satisfy  the  unreasonable  desires  of  any  par- 


312 


SAMUEL  CLARKE 


ticular  depraved  natures,  he  should  at  any  time  suffer  the  order 
of  the  whole  to  be  altered  and  perverted.  Lastly,  ’t  is  a thing 
evidently  and  infinitely  more  fit,  that  any  one  particular  inno- 
cent and  good  being,  should  by  the  supreme  Ruler  and  Disposer 
of  all  things,  be  placed  and  preserved  in  an  easy  and  happy  es- 
tate, than  that,  without  any  fault  or  demerit  of  its  own,  it  should 
be  made  extremely,  remedilessly,  and  endlessly  miserable.  In  like 
manner,  in  men’s  dealing  and  conversing  one  with  another,  ’t  is 
undeniably  more  fit,  absolutely  and  in  the  nature  of  the  thing  it- 
self, that  all  men  should  endeavour  to  promote  the  universal 
good  and  welfare  of  all,  than  that  all  men  should  be  continually 
contriving  the  ruin  and  destruction  of  all.  ’T  is  evidently  more 
fit,  even  before  all  positive  bargains  and  compacts,  that  men 
should  deal  one  with  another  according  to  the  known  rules  of 
justice  and  equity,  than  that  every  man  for  his  own  present  ad- 
vantage, should  without  scruple  disappoint  the  most  reasonable 
and  equitable  expectations  of  his  neighbours,  and  cheat  and  de- 
fraud, or  spoil  by  violence,  all  others  without  restraint.  Lastly, 
’t  is  without  dispute  more  fit  and  reasonable  in  itself,  that  I should 
preserve  the  life  of  an  innocent  man,  that  happens  at  any  time 
to  be  in  my  power,  or  deliver  him  from  any  imminent  danger, 
though  I have  never  made  any  promise  so  to  do,  than  that  I 
should  suffer  him  to  perish,  or  take  away  his  life,  without  any 
reason  or  provocation  at  all. 

These  things  are  so  notoriously  plain  and  self-evident,  that 
nothing  but  the  extremest  stupidity  of  mind,  corruption  of  man- 
ners, or  perverseness  of  spirit  can  possibly  make  any  man  en- 
tertain the  least  doubt  concerning  them.  For  a man  endued 
with  reason,  to  deny  the  truth  of  these  things,  is  the  very  same 
thing,  as  if  a man  that  has  the  use  of  his  sight,  should  at  the  same 
time  that  he  beholds  the  sun,  deny  that  there  is  any  such  thing 
as  light  in  the  world ; or  as  if  a man  that  understands  geometry 
or  arithmetic,  should  deny  the  most  obvious  and  known  pro- 
portions of  lines  or  numbers,  and  perversely  contend  that  the 
whole  is  not  equal  to  all  its  parts,  or  that  a square  is  not  double 
to  a triangle  of  equal  base  and  height.  Any  man  of  ordinary  ca- 
pacity, and  unbiassed  judgment,  plainness  and  simplicity,  who 


DISCOURSE  UPON  NATURAL  RELIGION  313 

had  never  read,  and  had  never  been  told,  that  there  were  men  and 
philosophers,  who  had  in  earnest  asserted  and  attempted  to  prove, 
that  there  is  no  natural  and  unalterable  difference  between  good 
and  evil,  would  at  the  first  hearing  be  as  hardly  persuaded  to 
believe,  that  it  could  ever  really  enter  into  the  heart  of  any  intelli- 
gent man,  to  deny  all  natural  difference  between  right  and  wrong, 
as  he  would  be  to  believe,  that  ever  there  could  be  any  geome- 
ter who  would  seriously  and  in  good  earnest  lay  it  down  as  a first 
principle,  that  a crooked  line  is  as  straight  as  a right  one.  . . . 

2.  Now  what  these  eternal  and  unalterable  relations,  respects, 
or  proportions  of  things,  with  their  consequent  agreements  or 
disagreements,  fitnesses  or  unfitnesses,  absolutely  and  neces- 
sarily are  in  themselves,  that  also  they  appear  to  be,  to  the  un- 
derstandings of  all  intelligent  beings,  except  those  only,  who  un- 
derstand things  to  be  what  they  are  not,  that  is,  whose  under- 
standings are  either  very  imperfect,  or  very  much  depraved. 
And  by  this  understanding  or  knowledge  of  the  natural  and 
necessary  relations,  fitnesses,  and  proportions  of  things,  the  wills 
likewise  of  all  intelligent  beings  are  constantly  directed,  and 
must  needs  be  determined  to  act  accordingly,  excepting  those 
only,  who  will  things  to  be  what  they  are  not  and  cannot  be; 
that  is,  whose  wills  are  corrupted  by  particular  interest  or  affec- 
tion, or  swayed  by  some  unreasonable  and  prevailing  passion. 
Wherefore  since  the  natural  attributes  of  God,  his  infinite  know- 
ledge, wisdom  and  power,  set  Him  infinitely  above  all  possibility 
of  being  deceived  by  any  error,  or  of  being  influenced  by  any 
wrong  affection,  ’t  is  manifest  His  divine  will  cannot  but  always 
and  necessarily  determine  itself  to  choose  to  do  what  in  the  whole 
is  absolutely  best  and  fittest  to  be  done ; that  is,  to  act  constantly 
according  to  the  eternal  rules  of  infinite  goodness,  justice,  and 
truth.  As  I have  endeavoured  to  show  distinctly  in  my  former 
discourse,  in  deducing  severally  the  moral  attributes  of  God. 

3.  And  now,  that  the  same  reason  of  things,  with  regard  to 
which  the  will  of  God  always  and  necessarily  does  determine 
itself  to  act  in  constant  conformity  to  the  eternal  rules  of  justice, 
equity,  goodness,  and  truth,  ought  also  constantly  to  determine 
the  wills  of  all  subordinate  rational  beings,  to  govern  all  their 


3H 


SAMUEL  CLARKE 


actions  by  the  same  rules,  is  very  evident.  For,  as ’t  is  absolutely 
impossible  in  nature,  that  God  should  be  deceived  by  any  error, 
or  influenced  by  any  wrong  affection : so ’t  is  very  unreasonable 
and  blameworthy  in  practice,  that  any  intelligent  creatures, 
whom  God  has  made  so  far  like  unto  himself  as  to  endue  them 
with  those  excellent  faculties  of  reason  and  will,  whereby  they 
are  enabled  to  distinguish  good  from  evil,  and  to  choose  the  one 
and  refuse  the  other,  should  either  negligently  suffer  themselves 
to  be  imposed  upon  and  deceived  in  matters  of  good  and  evil, 
right  and  wrong,  or  wilfully  and  perversely  allow  themselves 
to  be  over-ruled  by  absurd  passions,  and  corrupt  or  partial  af- 
fections, to  act  contrary  to  what  they  know  is  fit  to  be  done. 
Which  two  things,  viz.  negligent  misunderstanding  and  wil- 
ful passions  or  lusts,  are,  as  I said,  the  only  causes  which  can 
make  a reasonable  creature  act  contrary  to  reason,  that  is,  con- 
trary to  the  eternal  rules  of  justice,  equity,  righteousness  and 
truth.  For,  was  it  not  for  these  inexcusable  corruptions  and 
depravations,  ’t  is  impossible  but  the  same  proportions  and  fit- 
nesses of  things,  which  have  so  much  weight  and  so  much  excel- 
lency and  beauty  in  them,  that  the  all-powerful  Creator  and 
Governour  of  the  universe  (who  has  the  absolute  and  uncon- 
trollable dominion  of  all  things  in  his  own  hands,  and  is  account- 
able to  none  for  what  he  does,  yet)  thinks  it  no  diminution  of  His 
power  to  make  this  reason  of  things  the  unalterable  rule  and  law 
of  his  own  actions  in  the  government  of  the  world,  and  does  no- 
thing by  mere  will  and  arbitrariness;  ’t  is  impossible  (I  say),  if 
it  was  not  for  inexcusable  corruption'  and  depravation,  but  the 
same  eternal  reason  of  things  must  much  more  have  weight 
enough  to  determine  constantly  the  wills  and  actions  of  all  sub- 
ordinate, finite,  dependent  and  accountable  beings.  For  origi- 
nally and  in  reality,  ’t  is  as  natural  and  (morally  speaking)  neces- 
sary, that  the  will  should  be  determined  in  every  action  by  the 
reason  of  the  thing,  and  the  right  of  the  case,  as ’t  is  natural  and 
(absolutely  speaking)  necessary,  that  the  understanding  should 
submit  to  a demonstrated  truth.  And ’t  is  as  absurd  and  blame- 
worthy, to  mistake  negligently  plain  right  and  wrong,  that  is,  to 
rmderstand  the  proportions  of  things  in  morality  to  be  what  they 


DISCOURSE  UPON  NATURAL  RELIGION  315 

are  not,  or  wilfully  to  act  contrary  to  known  justice  and  equity, 
that  is,  to  will  things  to  be  what  they  are  not  and  cannot  be,  as 
it  would  be  absurd  and  ridiculous  for  a man  in  arithmetical  mat- 
ters, ignorantly  to  believe  that  twice  two  is  not  equal  to  four,  or 
wilfully  and  obstinately  to  contend,  against  his  own  clear  know- 
ledge, that  the  whole  is  not  equal  to  all  its  parts.  The  only  dif- 
ference is,  that  assent  to  a plain  speculative  truth,  is  not  in  a 
man’s  power  to  withhold,  but  to  act  according  to  the  plain  right 
and  reason  of  things,  this  he  may,  by  the  natural  liberty  of  his 
will,  forbear.  But  the  one  he  ought  to  do,  and ’t  is  as  much  his 
plain  and  indispensable  duty,  as  the  other  he  cannot  but  do,  and 
’t  is  the  necessity  of  his  nature  to  do  it.  . , . 

Further:  as  it  appears  thus  from  the  abstract  and  absolute 
reason  and  nature  of  things,  that  all  rational  creatures  ought, 
that  is,  are  obliged  to  take  care  that  their  wills  and  actions  be 
constantly  determined  and  governed  by  the  eternal  rule  of  right 
and  equity : so  the  certainty  and  universality  of  that  obligation 
is  plainly  confirmed,  and  the  force  of  it  particularly  discovered 
and  applied  to  every  man,  by  this ; that  in  like  manner  as  no  one, 
who  is  instructed  in  mathematics,  can  forbear  giving  his  assent  to 
every  geometrical  demonstration,  of  which  he  understands  the 
terms,  either  by  his  own  study,  or  by  having  had  them  explained 
to  him  by  others ; so  no  man,  who  either  has  patience  and  oppor- 
tunities to  examine  and  consider  things  himself,  or  has  the  means 
of  being  taught  and  instructed  in  any  tolerable  manner  by  others, 
concerning  the  necessary  relations  and  dependencies  of  things, 
can  avoid  giving  his  assent  to  the  fitness  and  reasonableness  of  his 
governing  all  his  actions  by  the  law  or  rule  before  mentioned, 
even  though  his  practice,  through  the  prevalence  of  brutish  lusts, 
be  most  absurdly  contradictory  to  that  assent.  That  is  to  say ; 
by  the  reason  of  his  mind,  he  cannot  but  be  compelled  to  own 
and  acknowledge,  that  there  is  really  such  an  obligation  indis- 
pensably incumbent  upon  him,  even  at  the  same  time  that  in 
the  actions  of  his  life  he  is  endeavouring  to  throw  it  off  and  de- 
spise it.  For  the  judgment  and  conscience  of  a man’s  own  mind, 
concerning  the  reasonableness  and  fitness  of  the  thing,  that  his 
actions  should  be  conformed  to  such  or  such  a rule  or  law,  is  the 


SAMUEL  CLARKE 


316 

truest  and  formallest  obligation,  even  more  properly  and  strictly 
so,  than  any  opinion  whatsoever  of  the  authority  of  the  giver  of 
a law,  or  any  regard  he  may  have  to  its  sanction  by  rewards  and 
punishments.  For  whoever  acts  contrary  to  this  sense  and  con- 
science of  his  own  mind,  is  necessarily  self-condemned;  and  the 
greatest  and  strongest  of  all  obligations  is  that,  which  a man 
cannot  break  through  without  condemning  himself.  The  dread 
of  superior  power  and  authority,  and  the  sanction  of  rewards 
and  punishments,  however  indeed  absolutely  necessary  to  the 
government  of  frail  and  fallible  creatures,  and  truly  the  most 
effectual  means  of  keeping  them  in  their  duty,  is  yet  really  in 
itself,  only  a secondary  and  additional  obligation,  or  enforcement 
of  the  first.  The  original  obligation  of  all  (the  ambiguous  use 
of  which  word  as  a term  of  art,  has  caused  some  perplexity  and 
confusion  in  this  matter)  is  the  eternal  reason  of  things;  that 
reason,  which  God  himself  who  has  no  superior  to  direct  Him, 
and  to  whose  happiness  nothing  can  be  added  nor  anything 
diminished  from  it,  yet  constantly  obliges  Himself  to  govern  the 
world  by : and  the  more  excellent  and  perfect  (or  the  freer  from 
corruption  and  depravation)  any  creatures  are,  the  more  cheer- 
fully and  steadily  are  their  wills  always  determined  by  this  su- 
preme obligation,  in  conformity  to  the  nature,  and  in  imitation 
of  the  most  perfect  will  of  God.  So  far  therefore  as  men  are  con- 
scious of  what  is  right  and  wrong,  so  far  they  are  under  an  obli- 
gation to  act  accordingly ; and  consequently  that  eternal  rule  of 
right,  which  I have  been  hereto  describing,  ’t  is  evident  ought 
as  indispensably  to  govern  men’s  actions,  as  cannot  but  neces- 
sarily determine  their  assent. 

7,  Lastly,  This  law  of  nature  has  its  full  obligatory  power,  ante- 
cedent to  all  consideration  of  any  particular  private  and  personal 
reward  or  punishment,  annexed  either  by  natural  consequence, 
or  by  positive  appointment,  to  the  observance  or  neglect  of  it. 
This  also  is  very  evident:  Because,  if  good  and  evil,  right  and 
wrong,  fitness  and  unfitness  of  being  practised,  be  (as  has  been 
shown)  originally,  eternally,  and  necessarily,  in  the  nature  of 
things  themselves,  it  is  plain  that  the  view  of  particular  rewards 
or  punishments,  which  is  only  an  after-consideration,  and  does 


DISCOURSE  UPON  NATURAL  RELIGION  317 

not  at  all  alter  the  nature  of  things,  cannot  be  the  original  cause 
of  the  obligation  of  the  law,  but  is  only  an  additional  weight  to 
enforce  the  practice  of  what  men  were  obliged  to  by  right  reason. 
There  is  no  man,  who  has  any  just  sense  of  the  difference  be- 
tween good  and  evil,  but  must  needs  acknowledge,  that  virtue 
and  goodness  are  truly  amiable,  and  to  be  chosen  for  their  own 
sake  and  intrinsic  worth,  though  a man  had  no  prospect  of  gain- 
ing any  particular  advantage  to  himself,  by  the  practice  of  them : 
and  that  on  the  contrary,  cruelty,  violence  and  oppression, 
fraud,  injustice,  and  all  manner  of  wdckedness,  are  of  them- 
selves hateful,  and  by  all  means  to  be  avoided,  even  though  a 
man  had  absolute  assurance,  that  he  should  bring  no  manner  of 
inconvenience  upon  himself  by  the  commission  of  any  or  all  of 
these  crimes. 


Thus  far  is  clear.  But  now  from  hence  it  does  not  at  all  fol- 
low, either  that  a good  man  ought  to  have  no  respect  to  rewards 
and  punishments,  or  that  rewards  and  punishments  are  not  ab- 
solutely necessary  to  maintain  the  practice  of  virtue  and  right- 
eousness in  this  present  world.  ’T  is  certain  indeed,  that  virtue 
and  vice  are  eternally  and  necessarily  different,  and  that  the  one 
truly  deserves  to  be  chosen  for  its  own  sake,  and  the  other 
ought  by  all  means  to  be  avoided,  though  a man  was  sure  for  his 
own  particular,  neither  to  gain  nor  lose  anything  by  the  practice 
of  either.  And  if  this  was  truly  the  state  of  things  in  the  world, 
certainly  that  man  must  have  a very  corrupt  mind  indeed,  who 
could  in  the  least  doubt,  or  so  much  as  once  deliberate  with  him- 
self, which  he  would  choose.  But  the  case  does  not  stand  thus. 
The  question  now  in  the  general  practice  of  the  world,  supposing 
all  expectation  of  rewards  and  punishments  set  aside,  will  not  be, 
whether  a man  would  choose  virtue  for  its  own  sake,  and  avoid 
vice;  but  the  practice  of  vice,  is  accompanied  with  great  tempta- 
tions and  allurements  of  pleasure  and  profit,  and  the  practice  of 
virtue  is  often  threatened  with  great  calamities,  losses,  and  some- 
times even  with  death  itself.  And  this  alters  the  question,  and 
destroys  the  practice  of  that  which  appears  so  reasonable  in  the 
whole  speculation,  and  introduces  a necessity  of  rewards  and 


SAMUEL  CLARKE 


318 

punishments.  For  though  virtue  is  unquestionably  worthy  to  be 
chosen  for  its  own  sake,  even  without  any  expectation  of  reward, 
yet  it  does  not  follow  that  it  is  therefore  entirely  self-sufScient, 
and  able  to  support  a man  under  all  kinds  of  sufferings,  and  even 
death  itself,  for  its  sake,  without  any  prospect  of  future  recom- 
pence.  Here  therefore  began  the  error  of  the  Stoics,  who  taught 
that  the  bare  practice  of  virtue,  was  itself  the  chief  good,  and 
able  of  itself  to  make  a man  happy,  under  all  the  calamities  in  the 
world.  Their  defence  indeed  of  the  cause  of  virtue,  was  very 
brave : they  saw  well  that  its  excellency  was  intrinsic,  and  founded 
in  the  nature  of  things  themselves,  and  could  not  be  altered  by 
any  outward  circumstances;  that  therefore  virtue  must  needs 
be  desirable  for  its  own  sake,  and  not  merely  for  the  advantage 
it  might  bring  along  with  it;  and  if  so,  then  consequently  neither 
could  any  external  disadvantage,  which  it  might  happen  to  be 
attended  with,  change  the  intrinsic  worth  of  the  thing  itself,  or 
ever  make  it  cease  to  be  truly  desirable.  Wherefore,  in  the  case 
of  sufferings  and  death  for  the  sake  of  virtue,  not  having  any 
certain  knowledge  of  a future  state  of  reward  (though  the  wisest 
of  them  did  indeed  hope  for  it,  and  think  it  highly  probable), 
they  were  forced,  that  they  might  be  consistent  with  their  own 
principles,  to  suppose  the  practice  of  virtue  a sufficient  reward 
to  itself  in  all  cases,  and  a full  compensation  for  all  the  sufferings 
in  the  world.  And  accordingly  they  very  bravely  indeed  taught, 
that  the  practice  of  virtue  was  not  only  infinitely  to  be  preferred 
before  all  the  sinful  pleasures  in  the  world,  but  also  that  a man 
ought  without  scruple  to  choose,  if  the  case  was  proposed  to  him, 
rather  to  undergo  all  possible  sufferings  with  virtue,  than  to  ob- 
tain all  possible  worldly  happiness  by  sin.  And  the  suitable  prac- 
tice of  some  few  of  them,  as  of  Regulus  for  instance,  who  chose 
to  die  the  cruellest  death  that  could  be  invented  rather  than 
break  his  faith  with  an  enemy,  is  indeed  very  wonderful  and  to 
be  admired.  But  yet,  after  all  this,  ’t  is  plain  that  the  general 
practice  of  virtue  in  the  world,  can  never  be  supported  upon  this 
foot.  The  discourse  is  admirable,  but  it  seldom  goes  further 
than  mere  words,  and  the  practice  of  those  few  who  have  acted 


DISCOURSE  UPON  NATURAL  RELIGION  319 

accordingly,  has  not  been  imitated  by  the  rest  of  the  world.  Men 
never  will  generally,  and  indeed  ’t  is  not  very  reasonably  to  be 
expected  they  should,  part  with  all  the  comforts  of  life,  and  even 
life  itself,  without  expectation  of  any  future  recompence.  So  that, 
if  we  suppose  no  future  state  of  rewards,  it  will  follow  that  God 
has  endued  men  with  such  faculties,  as  put  them  under  a neces- 
sity of  approving  and  choosing  virtue  in  the  judgment  of  their 
own  minds,  and  yet  has  not  given  them  wherewith  to  support 
themselves  in  the  suitable  and  constant  practice  of  it.  The  con- 
sideration of  which  inexplicable  difficulty,  ought  to  have  led  the 
philosophers  to  a firm  belief  and  expectation  of  a future  state  of 
rewards  and  punishments,  without  which  their  whole  scheme 
of  morality  cannot  be  supported.  And,  because  a thing  of  such 
necessity  and  importance  to  mankind,  was  not  more  clearly  and 
directly  and  universally  made  known,  it  might  naturally  have 
led  them  to  some  farther  consequences  also,  which  I shall  have 
occasion  particularly  to  deduce  hereafter. 

Thus  have  I endeavoured  to  deduce  the  original  obligations 
of  morality,  from  the  necessary  and  eternal  reason  and  propor- 
tions of  things.  Some  have  chosen  to  found  all  difference  ‘ of 
good  and  evil,  in  the  mere  positive  will  and  power  of  God : but 
the  absurdity  of  this,  I have  shown  elsewhere.  Others  have  con- 
tended, that  all  difference  of  good  and  evil,  and  all  obligations 
of  morality,  ought  to  be  founded  originally  upon  considerations 
of  public  utility.  And  true  indeed  it  is,  in  the  whole;  that  the 
good  of  the  universal  creation,  does  always  coincide  with  the 
necessary  truth  and  reason  of  things.  But  otherwise  (and  sepa- 
rate from  this  consideration,  that  God  will  certainly  cause  truth 
and  right  to  terminate  in  happiness),  what  is  for  the  good  of  the 
whole  creation,  in  very  many  cases,  none  but  an  infinite  under- 
standing can  possibly  judge.  Public  utility,  is  one  thing  to  one 
nation,  and  the  contrary  to  another,  and  the  governours  of  every 
nation,  will  and  must  be  judges  of  the  public  good,  and  by  public 
good,  they  will  generally  mean  the  private  good  of  that  particular 

^ Cum  omnis  ratio  veri  et  boni  ab  ejus  Omnipotentia  dependeat.  Cartes 
Epist.  6,  partis  secundae. 


320 


SAMUEL  CLARKE 


nation.  But  truth  and  right  (whether  public  or  private)  founded 
in  the  eternal  ard  necessary  reason  of  things,  is  what  every  man 
can  judge  of,  when  laid  before  him.  ’T  is  necessarily  one  and  the 
same,  to  every  man’s  understanding,  just  as  light  is  the  same, 
to  every  man’s  eyes. 


THIRD  EARL  OF  SHAFTESBURY 

( 1671-1713) 

AN  INQUIRY  CONCERNING  VIRTUE 
OR  MERIT* 

Book  I.  — Part  II. 

SECTION  IIL  WHAT  VIRTUE  OR  MERIT  IS 

But  to  proceed  from  what  is  esteemed  mere  goodness,  and  lies 
within  the  reach  and  capacity  of  all  sensible  creatures,  to  that 
which  is  called  virtue  or  merit,  and  is  allowed  to  man  only. 

In  a creature  capable  of  forming  general  notions  of  things, 
not  only  the  outward  beings  which  offer  themselves  to  the  sense, 
are  the  objects  of  the  affection,  but  the  very  actions  themselves, 
and  the  affections  of  pity,  kindness,  gratitude,  and  their  con- 
traries, being  brought  into  the  mind  by  reflection,  become  ob- 
jects. So  that,  by  means  of  this  reflected  sense,  there  arises  an- 
other kind  of  affection  towards  those  very  affections  themselves, 
which  have  been  already  felt,  and  are  now  become  the  subject 
of  a new  liking  or  dislike. 

The  case  is  the  same  in  mental  or  moral  subjects  as  in  or- 
dinary bodies,  or  the  common  subjects  of  sense.  The  shapes, 
motions,  colours,  and  proportions  of  these  latter  being  presented 
to  our  eye;  there  necessarily  results  a beauty  or  deformity,  ac- 
cording to  the  different  measure,  arrangement,  and  disposition 
of  their  several  parts.  So  in  behaviour  and  actions,  when  pre- 
sented to  our  understanding,  there  must  be  found,  of  necessity, 
an  apparent  difference,  according  to  the  regularity  or  irregu- 
larity of  the  subjects. 

The  mind,  which  is  spectator  or  auditor  of  other  minds,  can- 
not be  without  its  eye  and  ear ; so  as  to  discern  proportion,  dis- 
tinguish sound,  and  scan  each  sentiment  or  thought  which  comes 
before  it.  It  can  let  nothing  escape  its  censure.  It  feels  the  soft 

* First  printed  i6gg.  Reprinted  in  Shaftesbury’s  Characteristics  of  Men, 
Manners,  Opinions,  and  Times,  London,  1711,  vol.  ii.;  ib.  1900. 


322  THIRD  EARL  OF  SHAFTESBURY 

and  harsh,  the  agreeable  and  disagreeable  in  the  affections; 
and  ffnds  a foul  and  fair,  a harmonious  and  a dissonant,  as  really 
and  truly  here  as  in  any  musical  numbers  or  in  the  outward  forms 
or  representations  of  sensible  things.  Nor  can  it  withhold  its 
admiration  and  ecstasy,  its  aversion  and  scorn,  any  more  in  what 
relates  to  one  than  to  the  other  of  these  subjects.  So  that  to  deny 
the  common  and  natural  sense  of  a sublime  and  beautiful  in 
things,  will  appear  an  affectation  merely,  to  anyone  who  con- 
siders duly  of  this  affair. 

Now  as  in  the  sensible  kind  of  objects,  the  species  or  images 
of  bodies,  colours,  and  sounds  are  perpetually  moving  before  our 
eyes,  and  acting  on  our  senses  even  when  we  sleep;  so  in  the 
moral  and  intellectual  kind,  the  forms  and  images  of  things  are 
no  less  active  and  incumbent  on  the  mind,  at  all  seasons,  and 
even  when  the  real  objects  themselves  are  absent. 

In  these  vagrant  characters  or  pictures  of  manners,  which 
the  mind  of  necessity  figures  to  itself,  and  carries  still  about  with 
it,  the  heart  cannot  possibly  remain  neutral ; but  constantly  takes 
part  one  way  or  other.  However  false  or  corrupt  it  be  within 
itself,  it  finds  the  difference,  as  to  beauty  and  comeliness,  be- 
tween one  heart  and  another,  one  turn  of  affection,  one  behaviour, 
one  sentiment  and  another;  and  accordingly,  in  all  disinterested 
cases,  must  approve  in  some  measure  of  what  is  natural  and 
honest,  and  disapprove  what  is  dishonest  and  corrupt. 

Thus  the  several  motions,  inclinations,  passions,  dispositions, 
and  consequent  carriage  and  behaviour  of  creatures  in  the  vari- 
ous parts  of  life,  being  in  several  views  or  perspectives  repre- 
sented to  the  mind,  which  readily  discerns  the  good  and  ill  to- 
wards the  species  or  public,  there  arises  a new  trial  or  exercise 
of  the  heart,  which  must  either  rightly  and  soundly  affect  what 
is  just  and  right,  and  disaffect  w'hat  is  contrary,  or  corruptly 
affect  what  is  ill,  and  disaffect  what  is  worthy  and  good. 

And  in  this  case  alone  it  is  we  call  any  creature  worthy  or  vir- 
tuous, when  it  can  have  the  notion  of  a public  interest,  and  can 
attain  the  speculation  or  science  of  what  is  morally  good  or  ill, 
admirable  or  blamable,  right  or  wrong.  For  though  we  may 
vulgarly  call  an  ill  horse  vicious,  yet  we  never  say  of  a good  one. 


CONCERNING  VIRTUE  OR  MERIT  323 

nor  of  any  mere  beast,  idiot,  or  changeling,  though  ever  so  good- 
natured,  that  he  is  worthy  or  virtuous. 

So  that  if  a creature  be  generous,  kind,  constant,  compas- 
sionate; yet  if  he  cannot  reflect  on  what  he  himself  does,  or  sees 
others  do,  so  as  to  take  notice  of  what  is  worthy  or  honest,  and 
make  that  notice  or  conception  of  worth  and  honesty  to  be  an 
object  of  his  affection,  he  has  not  the  character  of  being  virtuous : 
for  thus,  and  not  otherwise,  he  is  capable  of  having  a sense  of 
right  or  wrong,  a sentiment  or  judgment  of  what  is  done,  through 
just,  equal,  and  good  affection,  or  the  contrary. 

Whatsoever  is  done  through  any  unequal  affection,  is  iniqui- 
tous, wicked,  and  wrong.  If  the  affection  be  equal,  sound,  and 
good,  and  the  subject  of  the  affection  such  as  may  with  advan- 
tage to  society  be  ever  in  the  same  manner  prosecuted,  or  affected ; 
this  must  necessarily  constitute  what  we  call  equity  and  right 
in  any  action.  For  wrong  is  not  such  action  as  is  barely  the  cause 
of  harm  (since  at  this  rate  a dutiful  son  aiming  at  an  enemy,  but 
by  mistake  or  ill  chance  happening  to  kill  his  father,  would  do  a 
wrong) , but  when  any  thing  is  done  through  insufficient  or  un- 
equal affection  (as  when  a son  shows  no  concern  for  the  safety 
of  a father;  or,  where  there  is  need  of  succour,  prefers  an  in- 
different person  to  him),  this  is  the  nature  of  wrong. 

Neither  can  any  weakness  or  imperfection  in  the  senses  be 
the  occasion  of  iniquity  or  wrong;  if  the  object  of  the  mind  it- 
self be  not  at  any  time  absurdly  framed,  nor  any  way  improper, 
but  suitable,  just,  and  worthy  of  the  opinion  and  affection  ap- 
plied to  it.  For  if  we  will  suppose  a man  who,  being  sound  and 
entire  both  in  his  reason  and  affection,  has  nevertheless  so  de- 
praved a constitution  or  frame  of  body,  that  the  natural  objects 
are,  through  his  organs  of  sense,  as  through  ill  glasses,  falsely 
conveyed  and  misrepresented,  ’t  will  be  soon  observed,  in  such 
a person’s  case,  that  since  his  failure  is  not  in  his  principal  or 
leading  part,  he  cannot  in  himself  be  esteemed  iniquitous,  or 
unjust. 

’T  is  otherwise  in  what  relates  to  opinion,  belief,  or  specula- 
tion. For  as  the  extravagance  of  judgment  or  belief  is  such 
that  in  some  countries  even  monkeys,  cats,  crocodiles,  and  other 


324  THIRD  EARL  OF  SHAFTESBURY 

vile  or  destructive  animals  have  been  esteemed  holy,  and 
worshipped  even  as  deities;  should  it  appear  to  anyone  of  the 
religion  or  belief  of  those  countries,  that  to  save  such  a creature 
as  a cat,  preferably  to  a parent,  was  right,  and  that  other  men, 
who  had  not  the  same  religious  opinion,  were  to  be  treated  as 
enemies  till  converted;  this  would  be  certainly  wrong,  and 
wicked  in  the  believer;  and  every  action,  grounded  on  this  belief, 
would  be  an  iniquitous,  wicked,  and  vicious  action. 

And  thus  whatsoever  causes  a misconception  or  misappre- 
hension of  the  worth  or  value  of  any  object,  so  as  to  diminish  a 
due,  or  raise  any  undue,  irregular,  or  unsocial  affection,  must 
necessarily  be  the  occasion  of  wrong.  Thus  he  v/ho  affects  or 
loves  a man  for  the  sake  of  something  which  is  reputed  honour- 
able, but  which  is  in  reality  vicious,  is  himself  vicious  and  ill. 
The  beginnings  of  this  corruption  may  be  noted  in  many  occur- 
rences; as  when  an  ambitious  man,  by  the  fame  of  his  high  at- 
tempts, a conqueror  or  a pirate  by  his  boasted  enterprises,  raises 
in  another  person  an  esteem  and  admiration  of  that  immoral 
and  inhuman  character,  which  deserves  abhorrence,  ’t  is  then 
that  the  hearer  becomes  corrupt,  when  he  secretly  approves  the 
ill  he  hears.  But  on  the  other  side,  the  man  who  loves  and  es- 
teems another,  as  believing  him  to  have  that  virtue  which  he 
has  not,  but  only  counterfeits,  is  not  on  this  account  either  vicious 
or  corrupt. 

A mistake  therefore  in  fact  being  no  cause  or  sign  of  ill  affec- 
tion, can  be  no  cause  of  vice.  But  a mistake  of  right  being  the 
cause  of  unequal  affection,  must  of  necessity  be  the  cause  of 
vicious  action,  in  every  intelligent  or  rational  being. 

But  as  there  are  many  occasions  where  the  matter  of  right  may 
even  to  the  most  discerning  part  of  mankind  appear  difficult, 
and  of  doubtful  decision,  ’t  is  not  a slight  mistake  of  this  kind 
which  can  destroy  the  character  of  a virtuous  or  worthy  man. 
But  when,  either  through  superstition  or  ill  custom,  there  come 
to  be  very  gross  mistakes  in  the  assignment  or  application  of  the 
affection;  when  the  mistakes  are  either  in  their  nature  so  gross, 
or  so  complicated  and  frequent,  that  a creature  cannot  well  live 
in  a natural  state,  nor  with  due  affections  compatible  with  hu- 


CONCERNING  VIRTUE  OR  MERIT  325 

man  society  and  civil  life;  then  is  the  character  of  virtue  for- 
feited. 

And  thus  we  find  how  far  worth  and  virtue  depend  on  a know- 
ledge of  right  and  wrong,  and  on  a use  of  reason,  sufficient  to 
secure  a right  application  of  the  affections;  that  nothing  horrid 
or  unnatural,  nothing  unexemplary,  nothing  destructive  of  that 
natural  affection  by  which  the  species  or  society  is  upheld,  may 
on  any  account,  or  through  any  principle  or  notion  of  honour  or 
religion,  be  at  any  time  affected  or  prosecuted  as  a good  and 
proper  object  of  esteem.  For  such  a principle  as  this  must  be 
wholly  vicious;  and  w'hatsoever  is  acted  upon  it  can  be  no  other 
than  vice  and  immorality.  And  thus  if  there  be  anything  which 
teaches  men  either  treachery,  ingratitude,  or  cruelty,  by  divine 
warrant;  or  under  colour  and  pretence  of  any  present  or  future 
good  to  mankind ; if  there  be  anything  which  teaches  men  to  per- 
secute their  friends  through  love,  or  to  torment  captives  of  war 
in  sport,  or  to  offer  human  sacrifice,  or  to  torment,  macerate,  or 
mangle  themselves,  in  a religious  zeal  before  their  God,  or  to 
commit  any  sort  of  barbarity,  or  brutality,  as  amiable  or  be- 
coming: be  it  custom  which  gives  applause,  or  religion  which 
gives  a sanction;  this  is  not,  nor  ever  can  be,  virtue,  of  any  kind, 
or  in  any  sense,  but  must  remain  still  horrid  depravity,  notwith- 
standing any  fashion,  law,  custom,  or  religion  which  may  be  ill 
and  vicious  itself,  but  can  never  alter  the  eternal  measures,  and 
immutable  independent  nature  of  worth  and  virtue. 


Book  II.  — Part  I. 

SECTION  I.  THE  OBLIGATION  TO  VIRTUE 

We  have  considered  what  virtue  is  and  to  whom  the  character 
belongs.  It  remains  to  inquire.  What  obligation  there  is  to  vir- 
tue, or  what  reason  to  embrace  it. 

We  have  found  that  to  deserve  the  name  of  good  or  virtuous, 
a creature  must  have  all  his  inclinations  and  affections,  his  dis- 
positions of  mind  and  temper,  suitable,  and  agreeing  with  the 


326  THIRD  EARL  OF  SHAFTESBURY 

good  of  his  kind,  or  of  that  system  in  which  he  is  included,  and 
of  which  he  constitutes  a part.  To  stand  thus  well  affected,  and 
to  have  one’s  affections  right  and  entire,  not  only  in  respect  of 
oneself,  but  of  society  and  the  public,  this  is  rectitude,  integrity, 
or  virtue.  And  to  be  wanting  in  any  of  these,  or  to  have  their 
contraries,  is  depravity,  corruption,  and  vice. 

It  has  been  already  shown,  that  in  the  passions  and  affections 
of  particular  creatures  there  is  a constant  relation  to  the  inter- 
est of  a species  or  common  nature.  This  has  been  demonstrated 
in  the  case  of  natural  affection,  parental  kindness,  zeal  for  pos- 
terity, concern  for  the  propagation  and  nurture  of  the  young, 
love  of  fellowship  and  company,  compassion,  mutual  succour, 
and  the  rest  of  this  kind.  Nor  will  anyone  deny  that  this  affec- 
tion of  a creature  towards  the  good  of  the  species  or  common 
nature  is  as  proper  and  natural  to  him  as  it  is  to  any  organ,  part, 
or  member  of  an  animal  body,  or  mere  vegetable,  to  work  in  its 
known  course,  and  regular  way  of  growth.  ’T  is  not  more  nat- 
ural for  the  stomach  to  digest,  the  lungs  to  breathe,  the  glands  to 
separate  juices,  or  other  entrails  .to  perform  their  several  offices, 
however  they  may  by  particular  impediments  be  sometimes 
disordered,  or  obstructed  in  their  operations. 

There  being  allowed  therefore  in  a creature  such  affections, 
as  these  towards  the  common  nature  or  system  of  the  kind,  to- 
gether with  those  other  which  regard  the  private  nature  or  self- 
system, it  will  appear  that  in  following  the  first  of  these  affections, 
the  creature  must  on  many  occasions  contradict  and  go  against 
the  latter.  How  else  should  the  species  be  preserved  ? Or  what 
would  signify  that  implanted  natural  affection,  by  which  a crea- 
ture through  so  many  difficulties  and  hazards  preserves  its  off- 
spring, and  supports  its  kind? 

It  may  therefore  be  imagined,  perhaps,  that  there  is  a plain 
and  absolute  opposition  between  these  two  habits  or  affections. 
It  may  be  presumed,  that  the  pursuing  the  common  interest  or 
public  good  through  the  affections  of  one  kind,  must  be  a hin- 
drance to  the  attainment  of  private  good  through  the  affections 
of  another.  For  it  being  taken  for  granted  that  hazards  and 
hardships  of  whatever  sort  are  naturally  the  ill  of  the  private 


CONCERNING  VIRTUE  OR  MERIT  327 

state,  and  it  being  certainly  the  nature  of  those  public  affections 
to  lead  often  to  the  greatest  hardships  and  hazards  of  every  kind, 
’t  is  presently  inferred,  “that  ’t  is  the  creature’s  interest  to  be 
without  any  public  affection  whatsoever.” 

This  w'e  know  for  certain,  that  all  social  love,  friendship,  grati- 
tude, or  whatever  else  is  of  this  generous  kind,  does  by  its  nature 
take  place  of  the  self-interesting  passions,  draws  us  out  of  our- 
selves, and  makes  us  disregardful  of  our  own  convenience  and 
safety.  So  that  according  to  a known  way  of  reasoning  on  self- 
interest,  that  which  is  of  a social  kind  in  us,  should  of  right  be 
abolished.  Thus  kindness  of  every  sort,  indulgence,  tenderness, 
compassion,  and  in  short,  all  natural  affection  should  be  indus- 
triously suppressed,  and  as  mere  folly  and  weakness  or  nature 
be  resisted  and  overcome;  that  by  this  means  there  might  be 
nothing  remaining  in  us,  which  was  contrary  to  a direct  self-end; 
nothing  which  might  stand  in  opposition  to  a steady  and  delib- 
erate pursuit  of  , the  most  narrowly  confined  self-interest. 

According  to  this  extraordinary  hypothesis,  it  must  be  taken 
for  granted,  “ that  in  the  system  of  a kind  or  species,  the  interest 
of  the  private  nature  is  directly  opposite  to  that  of  the  common 
one,  the  interest  of  particulars  directly  opposite  to  that  of  the 
public  in  general.”  A strange  constitution!  in  w'hich  it  must  be 
confessed  there  is  much  disorder  and  untowardness,  unlike  to 
what  we  observe  elsewhere  in  nature.  As  if  in  any  vegetable  or 
animal  body  the  part  or  member  could  be  supposed  in  a good 
and  prosperous  state  as  to  itself,  when  under  a contrary  dispo- 
sition and  in  an  unnatural  growth  or  habit  as  to  its  whole. 

Now  that  this  is  in  reality  quite  otherwise,  we  shall  endeavour 
to  demonstrate;  so  as  to  make  appear,  “that  what  men  repre- 
sent as  an  ill  order  and  constitution  in  the  universe,  by  making 
moral  rectitude  appear  the  ill,  and  depravity  the  good  or  advan- 
tage of  a creature,  is  in  nature  just  the  contrary.  That  to  be 
well  affected  towards  the  public  interest  and  one’s  own  is  not 
only  consistent  but  inseparable;  and  that  moral  rectitude,  or 
virtue,  must  accordingly  be  the  advantage,  and  vice  the  injury 
and  disadvantage  of  every  creature.” 


328  THIRD  EARL  OF  SHAFTESBURY 


SECTION  III.  THE  JFFECTIONS  OR  PJSSIONS 

It  has  been  shown  before,  that  no  animal  can  be  said  properly 
to  act,  otherwise  than  through  affections  or  passions,  such  as 
are  proper  to  an  animal.  For  in  convulsive  fits,  where  a creature 
strikes  either  himself  or  others,  ’t  is  a simple  mechanism,  an 
engine,  or  piece  of  clockwork,  which  acts,  and  not  the  animal. 

Whatsoever  therefore  is  done  or  acted  by  any  animal  as  such, 
is  done  only  through  some  affection  or  passion,  as  of  fear,  love, 
or  hatred  moving  him. 

And  as  it  is  impossible  that  a weaker  affection  should  over- 
come a stronger,  so  it  is  impossible  but  that  where  the  affections 
or  passions  are  strongest  in  the  main,  and  form  in  general  the 
most  considerable  party,  either  by  their  force  or  number,  thither 
the  animal  must  incline:  and  according  to  this  balance  he  must 
be  governed  and  led  to  action. 

The  affections  or  passions  which  must  influence  and  govern 
the  animal,  are  either,  — 

1.  The  natural  affections,  which  lead  to  the  good  of  the  public. 

2.  Or  the  self-affections,  which  lead  only  to  the  good  of  the 
private. 

3.  Or  such  as  are  neither  of  these,  nor  tending  either  to  any 
good  of  the  public  or  private,  but  contrariwise;  and  which  may 
therefore  be  justly  styled  unnatural  affections. 

So  that  according  as  these  affections  stand,  a creature  must 
be  virtuous  or  vicious,  good  or  ill. 

The  latter  sort  of  these  affections,  ’t  is  evident,  are  wholly 
vicious.  The  two  former  may  be  vicious  or  virtuous  according 
to  their  degree. 

It  may  seem  strange,  perhaps,  to  speak  of  natural  affections 
as  too  strong,  or  of  self-affections  as  too  weak.  But  to  clear  this 
difficulty  we  must  call  to  mind  what  has  been  already  explained, 
“that  natural  affection  may,  in  particular  cases,  be  excessive, 
and  in  an  unnatural  degree:”  as  when  pity  is  so  overcoming  as 
to  destroy  its  own  end,  and  prevent  the  succour  and  relief  re- 
quired; or  as  when  love  to  the  offspring  proves  such  a fondness 
as  destroys  the  parent,  and  consequently  the  offspring  itself. 


CONCERNING  VIRTUE  OR  MERIT  329 

And  notwithstanding  it  may  seem  harsh  to  call  that  unnatural 
and  vicious  which  is  only  an  extreme  of  some  natural  and  kind 
affection;  yet  ’t  is  most  certain,  that  wherever  any  single  good 
affection  of  this  sort  is  over-great,  it  must  be  injurious  to  the 
rest,  and  detract  in  some  measure  from  their  force  and  natural 
operation.  For  a creature  possessed  with  such  an  immoderate 
degree  of  passion,  must  of  necessity  allow  too  much  to  that  one, 
and  too  little  to  others  of  the  same  character,  and  equally  natural 
and  useful  as  to  their  end.  And  this  must  necessarily  be  the  oc- 
casion of  partiality  and  injustice  whilst  only  one  duty  or  natural 
part  is  earnestly  followed,  and  other  parts  or  duties  neglected, 
which  should  accompany  it,  and  perhaps  take  place  and  be 
preferred. 


Now  as  in  particular  cases,  public  affection,  on  the  one  hand, 
may  be  too  high,  so  private  affection  may,  on  the  other  hand, 
be  too  weak.  For  if  a creature  be  self-neglectful,  and  insensible 
of  danger,  or  if  he  want  such  a degree  of  passion  in  any  kind, 
as  is  useful  to  preserve,  sustain,  or  defend  himself,  this  must  cer- 
tainly be  esteemed  vicious  in  regard  of  the  design  and  end  of 
nature.  She  herself  discovers  this  in  her  known  method  and 
stated  rule  of  operation.  ’T  is  certain  that  her  provisionary  care 
and  concern  for  the  whole  animal  must  at  least  be  equal  to  her 
concern  for  a single  part  or  member.  Now  to  the  several  parts 
she  has  given,  we  see,  proper  affections,  suitable  to  their  interest 
and  security,  so  that  even  without  our  consciousness  they  act 
in  their  own  defence,  and  for  their  own  benefit  and  preservation. 
Thus  an  eye,  in  its  natural  state,  fails  not  to  shut  together,  of  its 
own  accord,  unknowingly  to  us,  by  a peculiar  caution  and  timid- 
ity; which  if  it  wanted,  however  we  might  intend  the  preservation 
of  our  eye,  we  should  not  in  effect  be  able  to  preserve  it,  by  any 
observation  or  forecast  of  our  own.  To  be  wanting  therefore  in 
those  principal  affections  which  respect  the  good  of  the  whole 
constitution,  must  be  a vice  and  imperfection  as  great  surely  in 
the  principal  part  (the  soul  or  temper)  as  it  is  in  any  of  those  in- 
ferior and  subordinate  parts  to  want  the  self-preserving  affec 
lions  which  are  proper  to  them. 


330  THIRD  EARL  OF  SHAFTESBURY 

And  thus  the  affections  towards  private  good  become  neces- 
sary and  essential  to  goodness.  For  though  no  creature  can  be 
called  good  or  virtuous  merely  for  possessing  these  affections, 
yet  since  it  is  impossible  that  the  public  good  or  good  of  the  sys- 
tem can  be  preserved  without  them,  it  follows  that  a creature 
really  wanting  in  them  is  in  reality  wanting  to  some  degree  in 
goodness  and  natural  rectitude,  and  may  thus  be  esteemed  vicious 
and  defective. 

’T  is  thus  we  say  of  a creature,  in  a kind  way  of  reproof,  that 
he  is  too  good,  when  his  affection  towards  others  is  so  warm  and 
zealous  as  to  carry  him  even  beyond  his  part;  or  when  he  really 
acts  beyond  it,  not  through  too  warm  a passion  of  that  sort,  but 
through  an  over-cool  one  of  another,  or  through  want  of  some 
self-passion  to  restrain  him  within  due  bounds. 


But  having  shown  what  is  meant  by  a passion’s  being  in  too 
high,  or  in  too  low  a degree;  and  that  “to  have  any  natural 
affection  too  high,  or  any  self-affection  too  low,”  though  it  be 
often  approved  as  virtue,  is  yet,  strictly  speaking,  a vice  and  im- 
perfection : we  come  now  to  the  plainer  and  more  essential  part 
of  vice,  and  wEich  alone  deserves  to  be  considered  as  such : that 
is  to  say,  — 

“ I.  When  either  the  public  affections  are  weak  or  deficient. 

“2.  Or  the  private  and  self-affections  too  strong. 

“3.  Or  that  such  affections  arise  as  are  neither  of  these,  nor 
in  any  degree  tending  to  the  support  either  of  the  public  or  pri- 
vate system.” 

Otherwise  than  thus,  it  is  impossible  any  creature  can  be  such 
as  we  call  ill  or  vicious.  So  that  if  once  we  prove  that  it  is  really 
not  the  creature’s  interest  to  be  thus  viciously  affected,  but  con- 
trariwise, we  shall  then  have  proved  “ that  it  is  his  interest  to  be 
wholly  good  and  virtuous,”  since  in  a wholesome  state  of  his 
affections,  such  as  we  have  described,  he  cannot  possibly  be  other 
than  sound,  good,  and  virtuous  in  his  action  and  behaviour. 

Our  business,  therefore,  will  be,  to  prove, — 

I.  “That  to  have  the  natural,  kindly,  or  generous  affections 
strong  and  powerful  towards  the  good  of  the  public,  is  to  have 


CONCERNING  VIRTUE  OR  MERIT  331 

the  chief  means  and  power  of  self-enjoyment;”  and  “that  to 
want  them,  is  certain  misery  and  ill.” 

II.  “That  to  have  the  private  or  self-affections  too  strong, 
or  beyond  their  degree  of  subordinacy  to  the  kindly  and  natural, 
is  also  miserable.” 

III.  And,  “That  to  have  the  unnatural  affections  (viz.  such 
as  are  neither  founded  on  the  interest  of  the  kind,  or  public,  nor 
of  the  private  person  or  creature  himself)  is  to  be  miserable  in 
the  highest  degree.” 

Book  II.  — Part  II. 

SECTION  /.  THE  NATURAL  AFFECTIONS 

To  begin  therefore  with  this  proof,  “That  to  have  the  natural 
affections  (such  as  are  founded  in  love,  complacency,  good-will, 
and  in  a sympathy  with  the  kind  or  species)  is  to  have  the  chief 
means  and  power  of  self-enjoyment.” 

We  may  inquire  first  what  those  are  which  we  call  pleasures 
or  satisfactions,  from  whence  happiness  is  generally  computed. 
They  are  (according  to  the  common  distinction)  satisfactions 
and  pleasures  either  of  the  body  or  of  the  mind. 

That  the  latter  of  these  satisfactions  are  the  greatest,  is  al- 
lowed by  most  people,  and  may  be  proved  by  this : that  whenever 
the  mind,  having  conceived  a high  opinion  of  the  worth  of  any 
action  or  behaviour,  has  received  the  strongest  impression  of 
this  sort,  and  is  wrought  up  to  the  highest  pitch  or  degree  of  pas- 
sion towards  the  subject,  at  such  time  it  sets  itself  above  all  bodily- 
pain  as  well  as  pleasure,  and  can  be  no  way  diverted  from  its 
purpose  by  flattery  or  terror  of  any  kind.  Thus  we  see  Indians, 
barbarians,  malefactors,  and  even  the  most  execrable  villains, 
for  the  sake  of  a particular  gang  or  society,  or  through  some  cher- 
ished notion  or  principle  of  honour  or  gallantry,  revenge  or  grati- 
tude, embrace  any  manner  of  hardship,  and  defy  torments  and 
death.  Whereas,  on  the  other  hand,  a person  being  placed  in  all 
the  happy  circumstances  of  outward  enjoyment,  surrounded 
with  everything  which  can  allure  or  charm  the  sense,  and  being 


332  THIRD  EARL  OF  SHAFTESBURY 

then  actually  in  the  very  moment  of  such  a pleasing  indulgence, 
yet  no  sooner  is  there  anything  amiss  within,  no  sooner  has  he 
conceived  any  internal  ail  or  disorder,  anything  inwardly  vexa- 
tions or  distempered,  than  instantly  his  enjoyment  ceases,  the 
pleasure  of  sense  is  at  an  end,  and  every  means  of  that  sort  be- 
comes ineffectual,  and  is  rejected  as  uneasy  and  subject  to  give 
distaste. 

The  pleasures  of  the  mind  being  allowed,  therefore,  superior 
to  those  of  the  body,  it  follows  “that  whatever  can  create  in 
any  intelligent  being  a constant  flowing  series  or  train  of  mental 
enjoyment,  or  pleasures  of  the  mind,  is  more  considerable  to  Lis 
happiness,  than  that  which  can  create  to  him  a like  constant 
course  or  train  of  sensual  enjoyments  or  pleasures  of  the  body.” 

Now  the  mental  enjoyments  are  either  actually  the  very  natu- 
ral affections  themselves  in  their  immediate  operation,  or  they 
wholly  in  a manner  proceed  from  them,  and  are  no  other  than 
their  effects. 

If  so,  it  follows,  that  the  natural  affections  duly  established 
in  a rational  creature  being  the  only  means  which  can  procure 
him  a constant  series  or  succession  of  the  mental  enjoyments, 
they  are  the  only  means  which  can  procure  him  a certain  and 
solid  happiness. 

Now,  in  the  first  place,  to  explain  “how  much  the  natural 
affections  are  in  themselves  the  highest  pleasures  and  enjoy- 
ments,” there  should  methinks  be  little  need  of  proving  this  to 
anyone  of  human  kind  who  has  ever  loiown  the  condition  of  the 
mind  under  a lively  affection  of  love,  gratitude,  bounty,  gener- 
osity, pity,  succour,  or  whatever  else  is  of  a social  or  friendly  sort. 
He  who  has  ever  so  little  knowledge  of  human  nature  is  sensible 
what  pleasure  the  mind  perceives  when  it  is  touched  in  this  gen- 
erous way.  The  difference  we  find  between  solitude  and  com- 
pany, between  a common  company  and  that  of  friends;  the  ref- 
erence of  almost  all  our  pleasures  to  mutual  converse,  and  the 
dependence  they  have  on  society  either  presenter  imagined; 
all  these  are  sufficient  proofs  in  our  behalf. 

How  much  the  social  pleasures  are  superior  to  any  other  may 
be  known  by  visible  tokens  and  effects.  The  very  outward  fea- 


CONCERNING  VIRTUE  OR  MERIT  333 

tures,  the  marks  and  signs  which  attend  this  sort  of  joy,  are  ex- 
pressive of  a more  intense,  clear,  and  imdisturbed  pleasure,  than 
those  which  attend  the  satisfaction  of  thirst,  hunger,  and  other 
ardent  appetites.  But  more  particularly  still  may  this  superiority 
be  known  from  the  actual  prevalence  and  ascendency  of  this  sort 
of  affection  over  all  besides.  Wherever  it  presents  itself  with  any 
advantage,  it  silences  and  appeases  every  other  motion  of  plea- 
sure. No  joy,  merely  of  sense,  can  be  a match  for  it.  Whoever 
is  judge  of  both  the  pleasures  will  ever  give  the  preference  to  the 
former.  But  to  be  able  to  judge  of  both,  ’t  is  necessary  to  have 
a sense  of  each.  The  honest  man  indeed  can  judge  of  sensual 
pleasure,  and  knows  its  utmost  force.  For  neither  is  his  taste  or 
sense  the  duller ; but,  on  the  contrary,  the  more  intense  and  clear, 
on  the  account  of  his  temperance  and  a moderate  use  of  appe- 
tite. But  the  immoral  and  profligate  man  can  by  no  means  be 
allowed  a good  judge  of  social  pleasure,  to  which  he  is  so  mere 
a stranger  by  his  nature. 

Nor  is  it  any  objection  here,  that  in  many  natures  the  good 
affection,  though  really  present,  is  found  to  be  of  insufficient 
force.  For  where  it  is  not  in  its  natural  degree,  ’t  is  the  same 
indeed  as  if  it  were  not  or  had  never  been.  The  less  there  is  of 
this  good  affection  in  any  untoward  creature,  the  greater  the 
wonder  is,  that  it  should  at  any  time  prevail ; as  in  the  very  worst 
of  creatures  it  sometimes  will.  And  if  it  prevails  but  for  once,  in 
any  single  instance,  it  shows  evidently  that  if  the  affection  were 
thoroughly  experienced  or  known,  it  would  prevail  in  all. 

Thus  the  charm  of  kind  affection  is  superior  to  all  other  plea- 
sure, since  it  has  the  power  of  drawing  from  every  other  appetite 
or  inclination.  And  thus  in  the  case  of  love  to  the  offspring  and 
a thousand  other  instances,  the  charm  is  found  to  operate  so 
strongly  on  the  temper,  as,  in  the  midst  of  other  temptations,  to 
render  it  susceptible  of  this  passion  alone;  which  remains  as  the 
master-pleasure  and  conqueror  of  the  rest. 

There  is  no  one  who,  by  the  least  progress  in  science  or  learn- 
ing, has  come  to  know  barely  the  principles  of  mathematics,  but 
has  found,  that  in  the  exercise  of  his  mind  on  the  discoveries  he 
makes,  though  merely  of  speculative  truths,  he  receives  a plea- 


334  THIRD  EARL  OF  SHAFTESBURY 

sure  and  delight  superior  to  that  of  sense.  When  we  have  thor- 
oughly searched  into  the  nature  of  this  contemplative  delight, 
we  shall  find  it  of  a kind  which  relates  not  in  the  least  to  any  pri- 
vate interest  of  the  creature,  nor  has  for  its  object  any  self-good 
or  advantage  of  the  private  system.  The  admiration,  joy,  or  love, 
turns  wholly  upon  what  is  exterior,  and  foreign  to  ourselves. 
And  though  the  reflected  joy  or  pleasure,  which  arises  from  the 
notice  of  this  pleasure  once  perceived  may  be  interpreted  a self- 
passion, or  interested  regard,  yet  the  original  satisfaction  can 
be  no  other  than  what  results  from  the  love  of  truth,  proportion, 
order,  and  symmetry  in  the  things  without.  If  this  be  the  case, 
the  passion  ought  in  reality  to  be  ranked  with  natural  affection. 
For  having  no  object  within  the  compass  of  the  private  system, 
it  must  either  be  esteemed  superfluous  and  unnatural  (as  having 
no  tendency  towards  the  advantage  or  good  of  anything  in  na- 
ture), or  it  must  be  judged  to  be  what  it  truly  is,  “a  natural  joy 
in  the  contemplation  of  those  numbers,  that  harmony,  proportion, 
and  concord  which  supports  the  universal  nature,  and  is  essential 
in  the  constitution  and  form  of  every  particular  species  or  order 
of  beings.” 

But  this  speculative  pleasure,  however  considerable  and  valu- 
able it  may  be,  or  however  superior  to  any  motion  of  mere  sense, 
must  yet  be  far  surpassed  by  virtuous  motion,  and  the  exercise 
of  benignity  and  goodness,  where,  together  with  the  most  de- 
lightful affection  of  the  soul,  .here  is  joined  a pleasing  assent  and 
approbation  of  the  mind  to  what  is  acted  in  this  good  disposition 
and  honest  bent.  For  where  is  there  on  earth  a fairer  matter  of 
speculation,  a goodlier  view  or  contemplation,  than  that  of  a 
beautiful,  proportioned,  and  becoming  action?  Or  what  is  there 
relating  to  us,  of  which  the  consciousness  and  memory  is  more 
solidly  and  lastingly  entertaining? 

We  may  observe  that  in  the  passion  of  love  between  the  sexes, 
where,  together  with  the  affection  of  a vulgar  sort,  there  is  a mix- 
ture of  the  kind  and  friendly,  the  sense  or  feeling  of  this  latter 
is  in  reality  superior  to  the  former;  since  often  through  this  af- 
fection, and  for  the  sake  of  the  person  beloved,  the  greatest 
hardships  in  the  world  have  been  submitted  to,  and  even  death 


CONCERNING  VIRTUE  OR  MERIT  335 

itself  voluntarily  embraced,  without  any  expected  compensation. 
For  where  should  the  ground  of  such  an  expectation  lie?  Not 
here,  in  this  world  surely;  for  death  puts  an  end  to  all.  Nor  yet 
hereafter,  in  any  other ; for  who  has  ever  thought  of  providing  a 
heaven  or  future  recompence  for  the  suffering  virtue  of  lovers? 

We  may  observe  withal,  in  favour  of  the  natural  affections, 
that  it  is  not  only  when  joy  and  sprightliness  are  mixed  with  them 
that  they  carry  a real  enjoyment  above  that  of  the  sensual  kind. 
The  very  disturbances  which  belong  to  natural  affection,  though 
they  may  be  thought  wholly  contrary  to  pleasure,  yield  still  a 
contentment  and  satisfaction  greater  than  the  pleasures  of  in- 
dulged sense.  And  where  a series  or  continued  succession  of  the 
tender  and  kind  affections  can  be  carried  on,  even  through  fears, 
horrors,  sorrows,  griefs,  the  emotion  of  the  soul  is  still  agreeable. 
We  continue  pleased  even  with  this  melancholy  aspect  or  sense 
of  virtue.  Her  beauty  supports  itself  under  a cloud,  and  in  the 
midst  of  surrounding  calamities.  For  thus  when  by  mere  illu- 
sion, as  in  a tragedy,  the  passions  of  this  kind  are  skilfully  ex- 
cited in  us,  we  prefer  the  entertainment  to  any  other  of  equal 
duration.  We  find  by  ourselves  that  the  moving  our  passions  in 
this  mournful  way,  the  engaging  them  in  behalf  of  merit  and 
worth,  and  the  exerting  whatever  we  have  of  social  affection  and 
human  sympathy,  is  of  the  highest  delight,  and  affords  a greater 
enjoyment  in  the  way  of  thought  and  sentiment,  than  anything 
besides  can  do  in  a way  of  sense  and  common  appetite.  And 
after  this  manner  it  appears  “how  much  the  mental  enjoyments 
are  actually  the  very  natural  affections  themselves.” 

Now,  in  the  next  place,  to  explain  “how  they  proceed  from 
them,  as  their  natural  effects,”  we  may  consider  first,  that  the 
effects  of  love  or  kind  affection,  in  a way  of  mental  pleasure,  are, 
“An  enjoyment  of  good  by  communication:  a receiving  it,  as  it 
were  by  reflection,  or  by  way  of  participation  in  the  good  of 
others;”  and  “a  pleasing  consciousness  of  the  actual  love,  mer- 
ited esteem,  or  approbation  of  others.” 

How  considerable  a part  of  happiness  arises  from  the  former 
of  these  effects  will  be  easily  apprehended  by  one  who  is  not  ex- 
ceedingly ill  natured.  It  will  be  considered  how  many  the  plea- 


336  THIRD  EARL  OF  SHAFTESBURY 

sures  are  of  sharing  contentment  and  delight  with  others;  of 
receiving  it  in  fellowship  and  company;  and  gathering  it,  in  a 
manner,  from  the  pleased  and  happy  states  of  those  around  us, 
from  accounts  and  relations  of  such  happinesses,  from  the  very 
countenances,  gestures,  voices,  and  sounds,  even  of  creatures 
foreign  to  our  kind,  whose  signs  of  joy  and  contentment  we 
can  anyway  discern.  So  insinuating  are  these  pleasures  of  sym- 
pathy, and  so  widely  diffused  through  our  whole  lives,  that  there 
is  hardly  such  a thing  as  satisfaction  or  contentment,  of  which 
they  make  not  an  essential  part. 

As  for  that  other  effect  of  social  love,  viz.  the  consciousness 
of  merited  kindness  or  esteem,  ’t  is  not  difficult  to  perceive  how 
much  this  avails  in  mental  pleasure,  and  constitutes  the  chief 
enjoyment  and  happiness  of  those  who  are,  in  the  narrowest 
sense,  voluptuous.  How  natural  is  it  for  the  most  selfish  among 
us  to  be  continually  drawing  some  sort  of  satisfaction  from  a 
character,  and  pleasing  ourselves  in  the  fancy  of  deserved  ad- 
miration and  esteem  ? For  though  it  be  mere  fancy,  we  endeavour 
still  to  believe  it  truth,  and  flatter  ourselves  all  we  can  with  the 
thought  of  merit  of  some  kind,  and  the  persuasion  of  our  deserv- 
ing well  from  some  few  at  least  with  whom  we  happen  to  have 
a more  intimate  and  familiar  commerce. 

What  tyrant  is  there,  what  robber,  or  open  violator  of  the  laws 
of  society,  who  has  not  a companion,  or  some  particular  sect, 
either  of  his  own  kindred,  or  such  as  he  calls  friends,  with  whom 
he  gladly  shares  his  good,  in  whose  welfare  he  delights,  and  whose 
joy  and  satisfaction  he  makes  his  own  ? What  person  in  the  world 
is  there  who  receives  not  some  impressions  from  the  flattery  or 
kindness  of  such  as  are  familiar  with  him?  ’T  is  to  this  soothing 
hope  and  expectation  of  friendship,  that  almost  all  our  actions 
have  some  reference.  ’T  is  this  which  goes  through  our  whole 
lives,  and  mixes  itself  even  with  most  of  our  vices.  Of  this,  van- 
ity, ambition,  and  luxury,  have  a share,  and  many  other  dis- 
orders of  our  life  partake.  Even  the  unchastest  love  borrows 
largely  from  this  source.  So  that  were  pleasure  to  be  computed 
in  the  same  way'  as  other  things  commonly  are  it  might  properly 
be  said,  that  out  of  these  two  branches  (viz.  community  or  par- 


CONCERNING  VIRTUE  OR  MERIT  337 

ticipation  in  the  pleasures  of  others,  and  belief  of  meriting  well 
from  others)  would  arise  more  than  nine  tenths  of  whatever  is 
enjoyed  in  life.  And  thus  in  the  main  sum  of  happiness,  there 
is  scarce  a single  article,  but  what  derives  itself  from  social  love, 
and  depends  immediately  on  the  natural  and  kind  affections. 

From  all  this  we  may  easily  conclude,  how  much  our  happiness 
depends  on  natural  and  good  affection.  For  if  the  chief  happi- 
ness be  from  the  mental  pleasures;  and  the  chief  mental  plea- 
sures are  such  as  we  have  described,  and  are  founded  in  natural 
affection;  it  follows,  “That  to  have  the  natural  affections,  is  to 
have  the  chief  means  and  power  of  self-enjoyment,  the  highest 
possession  and  happiness  of  life.” 


SECTION  II.  THE  SELF-AFFECTIONS 

We  are  now  to  prove,  that  by  having  the  self-passions  too 
intense  or  strong,  a creature  becomes  miserable. 

In  order  to  this  we  must,  according  to  method,  enumerate 
those  home-affections  which  relate  to  the  private  interest  or  sep- 
arate economy  of  the  creature,  such  as  love  of  life;  resentment 
of  injury;  pleasure,  or  appetite  towards  nourishment  and  the 
means  of  generation;  interest,  or  desire  of  those  conveniences 
by  which  we  are  all  well  provided  for  and  maintained;  emula- 
tion, or  love  of  praise  and  honour ; indolence,  or  love  of  ease  and 
rest.  — These  are  the  affections  wEich  relate  to  the  private  sys- 
tem, and  constitute  whatever  we  call  interestedness  or  self-love. 

Now  these  affections,  if  they  are  moderate  and  within  certain 
boimds,  are  neither  injurious  to  social  life  nor  a hindrance  to 
virtue;  but  being  in  an  extreme  degree,  they  become  cowardice, 
revengefulness,  luxury,  avarice,  vanity  and  ambition,  sloth;  and 
as  such,  are  owned  vicious  and  ill  with  respect  to  human  society. 
How  they  are  ill  also  with  respect  to  the  private  person,  and  are 
to  his  own  disadvantage  as  well  as  that  of  the  public,  we  may 
consider,  as  we  severally  examine  them. 

If  there  were  any  of  these  self-passions  which  for  the  good  and 


338  THIRD  EARL  OF  SHAFTESBURY 

happiness  of  the  creature  might  be  opposed  to  natural  affection, 
and  allowed  to  over-balance  it,  the  desire  and  love  of  life  would 
have  the  best  pretence.  But  it  will  be  found  perhaps,  that  there 
is  no  passion  which,  by  having  much  allowed  to  it,  is  the  occa- 
sion of  more  disorder  and  misery. 

There  is  nothing  more  certain,  or  more  universally  agreed 
than  this,  “that  life  may  sometimes  be  even  a misfortune  and 
misery.”  To  enforce  the  continuance  of  it  in  creatures  reduced 
to  such  extremity  is  esteemed  the  greatest  cruelty.  And  though 
religion  forbids  that  any  one  should  be  his  own  reliever,  yet  if 
by  some  fortunate  accident,  death  offers  of  itself,  it  is  embraced 
as  highly  welcome.  And  on  this  account  the  nearest  friends  and 
relations  often  rejoice  at  the  release  of  one  entirely  beloved,  even 
though  he  himself  may  have  been  so  weak  as  earnestly  to  decline 
death,  and  endeavour  the  utmost  prolongment  of  his  own  un- 
eligible  state. 

Since  life,  therefore,  may  frequently  prove  a misfortune  and 
misery,  and  since  it  naturally  becomes  so  by  being  only  pro- 
longed to  the  infirmities  of  old  age;  since  there  is  nothing,  withal, 
more  common  than  to  see  life  over-valued,  and  purchased  at  such 
a cost  as  it  can  never  justly  be  thought  worth,  it  follows  evidently; 
that  the  passion  itself  (viz.  the  love  of  life,  and  abhorrence  or 
dread  of  death)  if  beyond  a certain  degree,  and  over-balancing 
in  the  temper  of  any  creature,  must  lead  him  directly  against 
his  own  interest;  make  him,  upon  occasion,  become  the  greatest 
enemy  to  himself,  and  necessitate  him  to  act  as  such. 

But  though  it  were  allowed  the  interest  and  good  of  a creature, 
by  all  courses  and  means  whatsoever,  in  any  circumstances,  or 
at  any  rate,  to  preserve  life ; yet  would  it  be  against  his  interest 
still  to  have  this  passion  in  a high  degree.  For  it  would  by  this 
means  prove  ineffectual,  and  noway  conducing  to  its  end.  Va- 
rious instances  need  not  be  given.  For  what  is  there  better  known, 
than  that  at  all  times  an  excessive  fear  betrays  to  danger  instead 
of  saving  from  it?  ’T  is  impossible  for  any  one  to  act  sensibly 
and  with  presence  of  mind,  even  in  his  own  preservation  and 
defence,  when  he  is  strongly  pressed  by  such  a passion.  On  all 
extraordinary  emergences,  ’t  is  courage  and  resolution  saves. 


CONCERNING  VIRTUE  OR  MERIT  339 

whilst  cowardice  robs  us  of  the  means  of  safety,  and  not  only 
deprives  us  of  our  defensive  faculties,  but  even  runs  us  to  the 
brink  of  ruin,  and  makes  us  meet  that  evil  which  of  itself  would 
never  have  invaded  us. 

But  were  the  consequences  of  this  passion  less  injurious  than 
we  have  represented,  it  must  be  allowed  still  that  in  itself  it  can 
be  no  other  than  miserable,  if  it  be  misery  to  feel  cowardice, 
and  be  haunted  by  those  spectres  and  horrors  which  are  proper 
to  the  character  of  one  who  has  a thorough  dread  of  death.  For 
’t  is  not  only  when  dangers  happen,  and  hazards  are  incurred, 
that  this  sort  of  fear  oppresses  and  distracts.  If  it  in  the  least 
p’-evails,  it  gives  no  quarter  so  much  as  at  the  safest  stillest  hour 
of  retreat  and  quiet.  Every  object  suggests  thought  enough  to 
employ  it.  It  operates  when  it  is  least  observed  by  others,  and 
enters  at  all  times  into  the  pleasantest  parts  of  life,  so  as  to  cor- 
rupt and  poison  all  enjoyment  and  content.  One  may  safely 
aver  that  by  reason  of  this  passion  alone  many  a life,  if  inwardly 
and  closely  viewed,  would  be  found  to  be  thoroughly  miserable, 
though  attended  with  all  other  circumstances  which  in  appear- 
ance render  it  happy.  But  when  we  add  to  this  the  meannesses 
and  base  condescensions  occasioned  by  such  a passionate  con- 
cern for  living,  when  we  consider  how  by  means  of  it  we  are  driven 
to  actions  we  can  never  view  without  dislike,  and  forced  by  de- 
grees from  our  natural  conduct  into  still  greater  crookednesses 
and  perplexity,  there  is  no  one  surely  so  disingenuous  as  not  to 
allow  that  life  in  this  case  becomes  a sorry  purchase,  and  is 
passed  with  little  freedom  or  satisfaction.  For  how  can  this  be 
otherwise,  whilst  everything  which  is  generous  and  worthy,  even 
the  chief  relish,  happiness,  and  good  of  life,  is  for  life’s  sake 
abandoned  and  renounced? 

And  thus  it  seems  evident," that  to  have  this  affection  of  de- 
sire and  love  of  life  too  intense,  or  beyond  a moderate  degree, 
is  against  the  interest  of  a creature,  and  contrary  to  his  happi- 
ness and  good.” 

There  is  another  passion  very  different  from  that  of  fear  and 
which  in  a certain  degree  is  equally  preservative  to  us,  and  con- 
ducing to  our  safety.  As  that  is  serviceable  in  prompting  us  to 


340  THIRD  EARL  OF  SHAFTESBURY 

shun  danger,  so  is  this  in  fortifying  us  against  it,  and  enabling  us 
to  repel  injury  and  resist  violence  when  offered.  ’T  is  true  that 
according  to  strict  virtue,  and  a just  regulation  of  the  affections 
in  a wise  and  virtuous  man,  such  efforts  towards  action  amount 
not  to  what  is  justly  styled  passion  or  commotion.  A man  of 
courage  may  be  cautious  without  real  fear;  and  a man  of  temper 
may  resist  or  punish  without  anger;  but  in  ordinary  characters 
there  must  necessarily  be  some  mixture  of  the  real  passions  them- 
selves, which,  however,  in  the  main,  are  able  to  allay  and  temper 
one  another.  And  thus  anger  in  a manner  becomes  necessary. 
’T  is  by  this  passion  that  one  creature  offering  violence  to  an- 
other is  deterred  from  the  execution,  whilst  he  observes  how  the 
attempt  affects  his  fellow,  and  knows  by  the  very  signs  which 
accompany  this  rising  motion,  that  if  the  injury  be  carried  fur- 
ther it  will  not  pass  easily  or  with  impunity.  ...  As  to  this 
affection  therefore,  notwithstanding  its  immediate  aim  be  in- 
deed the  ill  or  punishment  of  another,  yet  it  is  plainly  of  the  sort 
of  those  which  tend  to  the  advantage  and  interest  of  the  self- 
system, the  animal  himself;  and  is  withal  in  other  respects  con- 
tributing to  the  good  and  interest  of  the  species. 


Thus  have  we  considered  the  self-passions,  and  what  the  con- 
sequence is  of  their  rising  beyond  a moderate  degree.  These 
affections,  as  self-interesting  as  they  are,  can  often,  we  see,  be- 
come contrary  to  our  real  interest.  They  betray  us  into  most 
misfortunes  and  into  the  greatest  of  unhappinesses,  that  of  a 
profligate  and  abject  character.  As  they  grow  imperious  and 
high,  they  are  the  occasion  that  a creature  in  proportion  becomes 
mean  and  low.  They  are  original  to  that  which  we  call  selfish- 
ness, and  give  rise  to  that  sordid  disposition  of  which  we  have 
already  spoken.  It  appears  there  can  be  nothing  so  miserable  in 
itself,  or  so  wretched  in  its  consequence,  as  to  be  thus  impotent 
in  temper,  thus  mastered  by  passion,  and  by  means  of  it  brought 
under  the  most  servile  subjection  to  the  world. 

’T  is  evident,  withal,  that  as  this  selfishness  increases  in  us, 
so  must  a certain  subtlety  and  feignedness  of  carriage  which 
naturally  accompanies  it.  And  thus  the  candour  and  ingenuity 


CONCERNING  VIRTUE  OR  MERIT  341 

of  our  natures,  the  ease  and  freedom  of  our  minds  must  be  for- 
feited; all  trust  and  confidence  in  a manner  lost,  and  suspicions, 
jealousies,  and  envies  multiplied.  A separate  end  and  interest 
must  be  every  day  more  strongly  formed  in  us ; generous  views 
and  motives  laid  aside;  and  the  more  we  are  thus  sensibly  dis- 
joined every  day  from  society  and  our  fellows,  the  worse  opinion 
we  shall  have  of  those  uniting  passions  which  bind  us  in  strict 
alliance  and  amity  with  others.  Upon  these  terms  we  must  of 
course  endeavour  to  silence  and  suppress  our  natural  and  good 
affections,  since  they  are  such  as  would  carry  us  to  the  good  of 
society,  against  what  we  fondly  conceive  to  be  our  private  good 
and  interest,  as  has  been  shown. 

Now  if  these  selfish  passions,  besides  what  other  ill  they  are 
the  occasion  of,  are  withal  the  certain  means  of  losing  us  our 
natural  affections;  then  (by  what  has  been  proved  before)  ’t  is 
evident  “ that  they  must  be  the  certain  means  of  losing  us  the 
chief  enjoyment  of  life,  and  raising  in  us  those  horrid  and  un- 
natural passions,  and  that  savageness  of  temper,  which  makes 
the  greatest  of  miseries,  and  the  most  wretched  state  of  life:” 
as  remains  for  us  to  explain. 


SECTION  III.  THE  UNNATURAL  AFFECTIONS 

The  passions  therefore,  which,  in  the  last  place,  we  are  to  ex- 
amine, are  those  which  lead  neither  to  a public  nor  a private 
good,  and  are  neither  of  any  advantage  to  the  species  in  general, 
or  the  creature  in  particular.  These,  in  opposition  to  the  social 
and  natural,  we  call  the  unnatural  affections. 

Of  this  kind  is  that  unnatural  and  inhuman  delight  in  behold- 
ing torments,  and  in  viewing  distress,  calamity,  blood,  massacre, 
and  destruction,  with  a peculiar  joy  and  pleasure.  This  has  been 
the  reigning  passion  of  many  tyrants  and  barbarous  nations, 
and  belongs  in  some  degree  to  such  tempers  as  have  thrown  off 
that  courteousness  of  behaviour  which  retains  in  us  a just  rev- 
erence of  mankind,  and  prevents  the  growth  of  harshness  and 
brutality.  This  passion  enters  not  where  civility  or  affable  man- 


342  THIRD  EARL  OF  SHAFTESBURY 

ners  have  the  least  place.  Such  is  the  nature  of  what  we  call 
good  breeding,  that  in  the  midst  of  many  other  corruptions,  it 
admits  not  of  inhumanity  or  savage  pleasure.  To  see  the  suf- 
erance  of  an  enemy  with  cruel  delight  may  proceed  from  the 
height  of  anger,  revenge,  fear,  and  other  extended  self-passions; 
but  to  delight  in  the  torture  and  pain  of  other  creatures  in- 
differently, natives  or  foreigners,  of  our  own  or  of  another  spe- 
cies, kindred  or  no  kindred,  known  or  unknown;  to  feed  as  it 
were  on  death,  and  be  entertained  with  dying  agonies ; this  has 
nothing  in  it  accountable  in  the  way  of  self-interest  or  private 
good  above  mentioned,  but  is  wholly  and  absolutely  unnatural, 
as  it  is  horrid  and  miserable. 


There  is  also  among  these  a sort  of  hatred  of  mankind  and 
society,  a passion  which  has  been  known  perfectly  reigning  in 
some  men,  and  has  had  a peculiar  name  given  to  it.  A large  share 
of  this  belongs  to  those  who  have  long  indulged  themselves  in  a 
habitual  moroseness,  or  who  by  force  of  ill  nature,  and  ill  breed- 
ing, have  contracted  such  a reverse  of  affability  and  civil  man- 
ners that  to  see  or  meet  a stranger  is  offensive.  The  very  aspect 
of  mankind  is  a disturbance  to  them,  and  they  are  sure  always 
to  hate  at  first  sight.  The  distemper  of  this  kind  is  sometimes 
found  to  be  in  a manner  national,  but  peculiar  to  the  more  sav- 
age nations,  and  a plain  characteristic  of  uncivilized  manners, 
and  barbarity.  This  is  the  immediate  opposite  to  that  noble 
affection,  which  in  ancient  language  was  termed  hospitality,  viz. 
extensive  love  of  mankind  and  relief  of  strangers. 

It  may  be  objected  here,  that  these  passions,  unnatural  as 
they  are,  carry  still  a sort  of  pleasure  with  them,  and  that  how- 
ever barbarous  a pleasure  it  be,  yet  still  it  is  a pleasure  and  sat- 
isfaction which  is  found  in  pride,  or  t)T*anny,  revenge,  malice, 
or  cruelty  exerted.  Now  if  it  be  possible  in  nature  that  any  one 
can  feel  a barbarous  or  malicious  joy  otherwise  than  in  conse- 
quence of  mere  anguish  and  torment,  then  may  we  perhaps  al- 
low this  kind  of  satisfaction  to  be  called  pleasure  or  delight.  But 
the  case  is  evidently  contrary.  To  love,  and  to  be  kind;  to  have 
social  or  natural  affection,  complacency,  and  good-will,  is  to  feel 


CONCERNING  VIRTUE  OR  MERIT  343 

immediate  satisfaction  and  genuine  content.  ’T  is  in  itself  origi- 
nal joy  depending  on  no  preceding  pain  or  uneasiness,  and  pro- 
ducing nothing  beside  satisfaction  merely.  On  the  other  side 
animosity,  hatred,  and  bitterness,  is  original  misery  and  torment, 
producing  no  other  pleasure  or  satisfaction,  than  as  the  unnatu- 
ral desire  is  for  the  instant  satisfied  by  something  which  appeases 
it.  How  strong  soever  this  pleasure  therefore  may  appear,  it 
only  the  more  implies  the  misery  of  that  state  which  produces  it. 
For  as  the  cruellest  bodily  pains  do  by  intervals  of  assuagement 
produce  (as  has  been  shown)  the  highest  bodily  pleasure,  so  the 
fiercest  and  most  raging  torments  of  the  mind  do,  by  certain 
moments  of  relief,  afford  the  greatest  of  mental  enjoyrhents  to 
those  who  know  little  of  the  truer  kind. 


Now  as  to  the  consequences  of  this  imnatural  state  in  respect 
of  interest  and  the  common  circumstances  of  life;  upon  what 
terms  a person  who  has  in  this  manner  lost  all  which  we  call 
nature  can  be  supposed  to  stand  in  respect  of  the  society  of 
mankind;  how  he  feels  himself  in  it;  what  sense  he  has  of  his 
own  disposition  towards  others,  and  of  the  mutual  disposition 
of  others  towards  himself ; this  is  easily  conceived. 

What  enjoyment  or  rest  is  there  for  one,  who  is  not  conscious 
of  the  merited  affection  or  love,  but,  on  the  contrary,  of  the 
ill-will  and  hatred  of  every  human  soul?  What  ground  must 
this  afford  for  horror  and  despair?  What  foundation  of  fear, 
and  continual  apprehension  from  mankind  and  from  superior 
powers?  How  thorough  and  deep  must  be  that  melancholy 
which  being  once  moved,  has  nothing  soft  or  pleasing  from  the 
side  of  friendship  to  allay  or  divert  it?  Wherever  such  a creature 
turns  himself,  whichever  way  he  casts  his  eye,  everything  around 
must  appear  ghastly  and  horrid;  every  thing  hostile  and,  as  it 
were,  bent  against  a private  and  single  being,  who  is  thus  divided 
from  every  thing,  and  at  defiance  and  war  with  the  rest  of  nature. 

’T  is  thus,  at  last,  that  a mind  becomes  a wilderness,  where 
all  is  laid  waste,  everything  fair  and  goodly  removed,  and  nothing 
extant  beside  what  is  savage  and  deformed.  Now  if  banishment 
from  one’s  country,  removal  to  a foreign  place,  or  anything  which 


344  THIRD  EARL  OF  SHAFTESBURY 

looks  like  solitude  or  desertion,  be  so  heavy  to  endure,  what  must 
it  be  to  feel  this  inward  banishment,  this  real  estrangement  from 
human  commerce,  and  to  be  after  this  manner  in  a desert,  and 
in  the  horridest  of  solitudes  even  when  in  the  midst  of  society? 
What  must  it  be  to  live  in  this  disagreement  with  everything, 
this  irreconcilableness  and  opposition  to  the  order  and  govern- 
ment of  the  universe? 

Hence  it  appears  that  the  greatest  of  miseries  accompanies 
that  state  which  is  consequent  to  the  loss  of  natural  affection; 
and  that  to  have  those  horrid,  monstrous,  and  unnatural  affec- 
tions is  to  be  miserable  in  the  highest  degree. 

CONCL  USION 

Thus  have  we  endeavoured  to  prove  what  was  proposed  in  the 
beginning.  And  since  in  the  common  and  known  sense  of  vice 
and  illness,  no  one  can  be  vicious  or  ill  except  either,  — 

I.  By  the  deficiency  or  weakness  of  natural  affections; 

Or,  2.  By  the  violence  of  the  selfish; 

Or,  3.  By  such  as  are  plainly  unnatural : 

It  must  follow  that,  if  each  of  these  is  pernicious  and  de- 
structive to  the  creature,  insomuch  that  his  completest  state  of 
misery  is  made  from  hence,  to  be  wicked  or  vicious,  is  to  be  mis- 
erable and  unhappy. 

And  since  every  vicious  action  must  in  proportion,  more  or 
less,  help  towards  this  mischief,  and  self-ill,  it  must  follow  that 
every  vicious  action  must  be  self-injurious  and  ill. 

On  the  other  side,  the  happiness  and  good  of  virtue  has  been 
proved  from  the  contrary  effect  of  other  affections,  such  as  are 
according  to  nature  and  the  economy  of  the  species  or  kind.  We 
have  cast  up  all  those  particulars  from  whence  (as  by  way  of 
addition  and  subtraction)  the  main  sum  or  general  account 
of  happiness  is  either  augmented  or  diminished.  And  if  there 
be  no  article  exceptionable  in  this  scheme  of  moral  arithme- 
tic, the  subject  treated  may  be  said  to  have  an  evidence  as 
great  as  that  which  is  found  in  numbers  or  mathematics.  For 
let  us  carry  scepticism  ever  so  far,  let  us  doubt,  if  we  can,  of 


CONCERNING  VIRTUE  OR  MERIT  345 

everything  about  us,  we  cannot  doubt  of  what  passes  within 
ourselves.  Our  passions  and  affections  are  known  to  us.  They 
are  certain,  whatever  the  objects  may  be  on  which  they  are  em- 
ployed. Nor  is  it  of  any  concern  to  our  argument,  how  these 
exterior  objects  stand,  whether  they  are  realities  or  mere  illu- 
sions ; whether  we  wake  or  dream.  For  ill  dreams  will  be  equally 
disturbing;  and  a good  dream  (if  life  be  nothing  else)  will  be 
easily  and  happily  passed.  In  this  dream  of  life,  therefore,  our 
demonstrations  have  the  same  force,  our  balance  and  economy 
hold  good,  and  our  obligation  to  virtue  is  in  every  respect  the 
same. 

Upon  the  whole  there  is  not,  I presume,  the  least  degree  of 
certainty  wanting  in  what  has  been  said  concerning  the  prefer- 
ableness of  the  mental  pleasures  to  the  sensual ; and  even  of  the 
sensual,  accompanied  with  good  affection,  and  under  a tem- 
perate and  right  use,  to  those  which  are  no  ways  restrained,  nor 
supported  by  any  thing  social  or  affectionate. 

Nor  is  there  less  evidence  in  what  has  been  said  of  the  united 
structure  and  fabric  of  the  mind,  and  of  those  passions  which 
constitute  the  temper  or  soul,  and  on  which  its  happiness  or 
misery  so  immediately  depend.  It  has  been  shown  that  in  this 
constitution  the  impairing  of  any  one  part  must  instantly  tend 
to  the  disorder  and  ruin  of  other  parts  and  of  the  whole  itself, 
through  the  necessary  connection  and  balance  of  the  affections ; 
that  those  very  passions  through  which  men  are  vicious  are  of 
themselves  a torment  and  disease;  and  that  whatsoever  is  done 
which  is  knowingly  ill  must  be  of  ill  consciousness ; and  in  pro- 
portion as  the  act  is  ill  must  impair  and  corrupt  social  enjoyment, 
and  destroy  both  the  capacity  of  kind  affection  and  the  conscious- 
ness of  meriting  any  such.  So  that  neither  can  we  participate 
thus  in  joy  or  happiness  with  others,  or  receive  satisfaction  from 
the  mutual  kindness  or  imagined  love  of  others,  on  which,  how- 
ever, the  greatest  of  all  our  pleasures  are  founded. 

If  this  be  the  case  of  moral  delinquency,  and  if  the  state  which 
is  consequent  to  this  defection  from  nature  be  of  all  other  the 
most  horrid,  oppressive,  and  miserable,  ’twill  appear,  “that 
to  yield  or  consent  to  any  thing  ill  or  immoral  is  a breach  of 


346  THIRD  EARL  OF  SHAFTESBURY 

interest,  and  leads  to  the  greatest  ills”;  and,  “that  on  the  other 
side,  every  thing  which  is  an  improvement  of  virtue,  or  an  es- 
tablishment of  right  affection  and  integrity,  is  an  advancement 
of  interest,  and  leads  to  the  greatest  and  most  solid  happiness 
and  enjoyment.” 

Thus  the  wisdom  of  what  rules,  and  is  hrst  and  chief  in  na- 
ture, has  made  it  to  be  according  to  the  private  interest  and  good 
of  every  one  to  work  towards  the  general  good,  which  if  a crea- 
ture ceases  to  promote,  he  is  actually  so  far  wanting  to  himself, 
and  ceases  to  promote  his  own  happiness  and  welfare.  He  is 
on  this  account  directly  his  own  enemy,  nor  can  he  any  other- 
wise be  good  or  useful  to  himself  than  as  he  continues  good  to 
society,  and  to  that  whole  of  which  he  is  himself  a part.  So  that 
virtue,  which  of  all  excellences  and  beauties  is  the  chief  and  most 
amiable;  that  which  is  the  prop  and  ornament  of  human  affairs; 
which  upholds  communities,  maintains  union,  friendship,  and 
correspondence  amongst  men;  that  by  which  countries,  as  well 
as  private  families,  flourish  and  are  happy,  and  for  want  of  which 
everything  comely,  conspicuous,  great,  and  worthy,  must  perish 
and  go  to  ruin;  that  single  quality,  thus  beneficial  to  all  society, 
and  to  mankind  in  general,  is  found  equally  a happiness  and 
good  to  each  creature  in  particular,  and  is  that  by  which  alone 
man  can  be  happy,  and  without  which  he  must  be  miserable. 

And  thus  virtue  is  the  good,  and  vice  the  ill  of  everyone. 


BERNARD  DE  MANDEVILLE 

(1670-1733) 

AN  ENQUIRY  INTO  THE  ORIGIN  OF 
MORAL  VIRTUE* 

All  untaught  animals  are  only  solicitous  of  pleasing  themselves, 
and  naturally  follow  the  bent  of  their  own  inclinations,  without 
considering  the  good  or  harm  that  from  their  being  pleased  will 
accrue  to  others.  This  is  the  reason  that,  in  the  wild  state  of 
nature,  those  creatures  are  fittest  to  live  peaceably  together  in 
great  numbers,  that  discover  the  least  of  understanding,  and  have 
the  fewest  appetites  to  gratify;  and  consequently  no  species  of 
animals  is,  without  the  curb  of  government,  less  capable  of  agree- 
ing long  together  in  multitudes  than  that  of  man;  yet  such  are 
his  qualities,  whether  good  or  bad,  I shall  not  determine,  that  no 
creature  besides  himself  can  ever  be  made  sociable : but,  being  an 
extraordinarily  selfish  and  headstrong,  as  well  as  cunning  animal, 
however  he  may  be  subdued  by  superior  strength,  it  is  impossible 
by  force  alone  to  make  him  tractable,  and  receive  the  improve- 
ments he  is  capable  of. 

The  chief  thing  therefore,  which  lawgivers  and  other  wise  men, 
that  have  laboured  for  the  establishment  of  society,  have  endea- 
voured, has  been  to  make  the  people  they  were  to  govern  believe, 
that  it  was  more  beneficial  for  every  body  to  conquer  than  indulge 
his  appetites,  and  much  better  to  mind  the  public  than  what 
seemed  his  private  interest.  As  this  has  always  been  a very  diffi- 
cult task,  so  no  wit  or  eloquence  has  been  left  untried  to  compass 
it;  and  the  moralists  and  philosophers  of  all  ages  employed  their 
utmost  skill  to  prove  the  truth  of  so  useful  an  assertion.  But, 
whether  mankind  would  have  ever  believed  it  or  not,  it  is  not 
likely  that  any  body  could  have  persuaded  them  to  disapprove 
of  their  natural  inclinations,  or  prefer  the  good  of  others  to  their 

* First  printed  in  the  second  edition  of  Mandeville’s  The  Fable  of  the  Bees, 
ir  Private  Vices,  Public  Bejiefits,  &^c.,  London,  1723. 


BERNARD  DE  MANDEVILLE 


348 

own,  if  at  the  sanae  time  he  had  not  showed  them  an  equivalent 
to  be  enjoyed  as  a reward  for  the  violence  which,  by  so  doing, 
they  of  necessity  must  commit  upon  themselves.  Those  that  have 
undertaken  to  civilize  mankind  were  not  ignorant  of  this;  but 
being  unable  to  give  so  many  real  rewards  as  would  satisfy  all 
persons  for  every  individual  action,  they  were  forced  to  contrive 
an  imaginary  one,  that,  as  a general  equivalent  for  the  trouble  of 
self-denial,  should  serve  on  all  occasions,  and,  without  costing 
any  thing  either  to  themselves  or  others,  be  yet  a most  acceptable 
recompense  to  the  receivers. 

They  thoroughly  examined  all  the  strength  and  frailties  of  our 
nature,  and  observing  that  none  were  either  so  savage  as  not  to 
be  charmed  with  praise,  or  so  despicable  as  patiently  to  bear  con- 
tempt, justly  concluded,  that  flattery  must  be  the  most  powerful 
argument  that  could  be  used  to  human  creatures.  Making  use  of 
this  bewitching  engine,  they  extolled  the  excellency  of  our  nature 
above  other  animals;  and,  setting  forth  with  unbounded  praises 
the  wonders  of  our  sagacity  and  vastness  of  understanding,  be- 
stowed a thousand  encomiums  on  the  rationality  of  our  souls,  by 
the  help  of  which  we  were  capable  of  performing  the  most  noble 
achievements.  Having  by  this  artful  way  of  flattery  insinuated 
themselves  into  the  hearts  of  men,  they  began  to  instruct  them  in 
the  notions  of  honour  and  shame,  representing  the  one  as  the 
worst  of  all  evils,  and  the  other  as  the  highest  good  to  which  mor- 
tals could  aspire ; which  being  done,  they  laid  before  them  how 
unbecoming  it  was  the  dignity  of  such  sublime  creatures  to  be 
solicitous  about  gratifying  those  appetites  which  they  had  in  com- 
mon with  brutes,  and  at  the  same  time  unmindful  of  those 
higher  qualities  that  gave  them  the  pre-eminence  over  all  visible 
beings.  They  indeed  confessed,  that  those  impulses  of  nature 
were  very  pressing;  that  it  was  troublesome  to  resist,  and  very 
difficult  wholly  to  subdue  them.  But  this  they  only  used  as  an  ar- 
gument to  demonstrate,  how  glorious  the  conquest  of  them  was  on 
the  one  hand,  and  how  scandalous  on  the  other  not  to  attempt  it. 

To  introduce  moreover  an  emulation  amongst  men,  they  di- 
vided the  whole  species  in  two  classes,  vastly  differing  from  one 
another.  The  one  consisted  of  abject,  low-minded  people,  that. 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  MORAL  VIRTUE  349 

always  hunting  after  immediate  enjoyment,  were  wholly  incap- 
able of  self-denial,  and,  without  regard  to  the  good  of  others,  had 
no  higher  aim  than  their  private  advantage,  such  as,  being  en- 
slaved by  voluptuousness,  yielded  without  resistance  to  every 
gross  desire,  and  made  no  use  of  their  rational  faculties  but  to 
heighten  their  sensual  pleasures : these  vile  grovelling  wretches, 
they  said,  were  the  dross  of  their  kind,  and,  having  only  the 
shape  of  men,  differed  from  brutes  in  nothing  but  their  outward 
figure.  But  the  other  class  w'as  made  up  of  lofty  high-spirited 
creatures,  that,  free  from  sordid  selfishness,  esteemed  the  im- 
provements of  the  mind  to  be  their  fairest  possessions ; and,  setting 
a true  value  upon  themselves,  took  no  delight  but  in  embellishing 
that  part  in  which  their  excellency  consisted,  such  as,  despising 
whatever  they  had  in  common  with  irrational  creatures,  opposed 
by  the  help  of  reason  their  most  violent  inclinations,  and  making 
a continual  war  with  themselves,  to  promote  the  peace  of  others, 
aimed  at  no  less  than  the  public  welfare,  and  the  conquest  of 
their  own  passions. 

Fortior  est  qui  se,  quam  qui  fortissima  vincit 

Moenia. 

These  they  called  the  true  representatives  of  their  sublime  species, 
exceeding  in  worth  the  first  class  by  more  degrees,  than  that  itself 
was  superior  to  the  beasts  of  the  field. 

As  in  all  animals  that  are  not  too  imperfect  to  discover  pride, 
we  find  that  the  finest,  and  such  as  are  the  most  beautiful  and 
valuable  of  their  kind,  have  generally  the  greatest  share  of  it;  so 
in  man,  the  most  perfect  of  animals,  it  is  so  inseparable  from  his 
very  essence  (how  cunningly  soever  some  may  learn  to  hide  or 
disguise  it),  that  without  it  the  compound  he  is  made  of  would 
w^ant  one  of  the  chiefest  ingredients;  which,  if  we  consider,  it  is 
hardly  to  be  doubted  but  lessons  and  remonstrances,  so  skilfully 
adapted  to  the  good  opinion  man  has  of  himself,  as  those  I have 
mentioned,  must,  if  scattered  amongst  a multitude,  not  only  gain 
the  assent  of  most  of  them  as  to  the  speculative  part,  but  likewise 
induce  several,  especially  the  fiercest,  most  resolute,  and  best 
among  them,  to  endure  a thousand  inconveniencies,  and  undergo 
as  many  hardships,  that  they  may  have  the  pleasure  of  counting 


350 


BERNARD  DE  MANDEVILLE 


themselves  men  of  the  second  class,  and  consequently  appropri- 
ating to  themselves  all  the  excellencies  they  have  heard  of  it. 

From  what  has  been  said  we  ought  to  expect,  in  the  first  place, 
that  the  heroes,  who  took  such  extraordinary  pains  to  master 
some  of  their  natural  appetites,  and  preferred  the  good  of  others 
to  any  visible  interest  of  their  own,  would  not  recede  an  inch  from 
the  fine  notions  they  had  received  concerning  the  dignity  of  ra- 
tional creatures;  and,  having  ever  the  authority  of  the  govern- 
ment on  their  side,  with  all  imaginable  vigour  assert  the  esteem 
that  was  due  to  those  of  the  second  class,  as  well  as  their  superior- 
ity over  the  rest  of  their  kind.  In  the  second,  that  those,  who 
wanting  a sufficient  stock  of  either  pride  or  resolution  to  buoy 
them  up  in  mortifying  of  what  was  dearest  to  them,  followed  the 
sensual  dictates  of  nature,  would  yet  be  ashamed  of  confessing 
themselves  to  be  of  those  despicable  wretches  that  belonged  to  the 
inferior  class  and  were  generally  reckoned  to  be  so  little  removed 
from  brutes ; and  that  therefore  in  their  own  defence  they  would 
say  as  others  did,  and,  hiding  their  own  imperfections  as  well  as 
they  could,  cry  up  self-denial  and  public-spiritedness  as  much  as 
any;  for  it  is  highly  probable,  that  some  of  them,  convinced  by 
the  real  proofs  of  fortitude  and  self-conquest  they  had  seen, 
would  admire  in  others  what  they  found  wanting  in  themselves ; 
others,  be  afraid  of  the  resolution  and  prowess  of  those  of  the  sec- 
ond class,  and  that  all  of  them  were  kept  in  awe  by  the  power  of 
their  rulers;  wherefore  it  is  reasonable  to  think,  that  none  of  them 
(whatever  they  thought  in  themselves)  would  dare  openly  con- 
tradict what  by  everybody  else  was  thought  criminal  to  doubt  of. 

This  was  (or  at  least  might  have  been)  the  manner  after  which 
savage  man  was  broke;  from  whence  it  is  evident,  that  the  first 
rudiments  of  morality,  broached  by  skilful  politicians,  to  render 
men  useful  to  each  other  as  well  as  tractable,  were  chiefly  con- 
trived that  the  ambitious  might  reap  the  more  benefit  from  and 
govern  vast  numbers  of  them  with  the  greatest  ease  and  security. 
This  foundation  of  politics  being  once  laid,  it  is  impossible  that 
man  should  long  remain  uncivilized;  for  even  those,  who  only 
strove  to  gratify  their  appetites,  being  continually  crossed  by 
others  of  the  same  stamp,  could  not  but  observe,  that  whenever 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  MORAL  VIRTUE  351 

they  checked  their  inclinations,  or  but  followed  them  with  more 
circumspection,  they  avoided  a world  of  troubles,  and  often  es- 
caped many  of  the  calamities  that  generally  attended  the  too 
eager  pursuit  after  pleasure. 

First,  they  received,  as  well  as  others,  the  benefit  of  those  ac- 
tions that  were  done  for  the  good  of  the  whole  society,  and  con- 
sequently could  not  forbear  wishing  well  to  those  of  the  superior 
class  that  performed  them.  Secondly,  the  more  intent  they  were 
in  seeking  their  own  advantage  without  regard  to  others,  the 
more  they  were  hourly  convinced,  that  none  stood  so  much  in 
their  way  as  those  that  were  most  like  themselves. 

It  being  the  interest  then  of  the  very  worst  of  them,  more  than 
any,  to  preach  up  public-spiritedness,  that  they  might  reap  the 
fruits  of  the  labour  and  self-denial  of  others,  and  at  the  same 
time  indulge  their  own  appetites  with  less  disturbance,  they 
agreed  with  the  rest  to  call  every  thing  which,  without  regard  to 
the  public,  man  should  commit  to  gratify  any  of  his  appelates. 
Vice,  if  in  that  action  there  could  be  observed  the  least  prospect, 
that  it  might  either  be  injurious  to  any  of  the  society,  or  even 
render  himself  less  serviceable  to  others,  and  to  give  the  name  of  j 
Virtue  to  every  performance,  by  which  man,  contrary  to  the  im-  ! 
pulse  of  nature,  should  endeavour  the  benefit  of  others,  or  the 
conquest  of  his  own  passions,  out  of  a rational  ambition  of  being 
good. 

It  shall  be  objected,  that  no  society  was  ever  any  ways  civilized, 
before  the  major  part  had  agreed  upon  some  worship  or  other  of 
an  over-ruling  power,  and  consequently  that  the  notions  of  good 
and  evil,  and  the  distinction  between  virtue  and  vice,  were  never 
the  contrivance  of  politicians,  but  the  pure  effect  of  religion. 
Before  I answer  this  objection,  I must  repeat  what  I have  said  al- 
ready, that  in  this  Enquiry  into  the  origin  of  moral  virtue,  I speak 
neither  of  Jews  nor  Christians,  but  man  in  his  state  of  nature  and 
ignorance  of  the  true  Deity;  and  then  I affirm,  that  the  idolatrous 
superstitions  of  all  other  nations,  and  the  pitiful  notions  they  had 
of  the  Supreme  Being,  were  incapable  of  exciting  man  to  virtue, 
and  good  for  nothing  but  to  awe  and  amuse  a rude  and  unthinking 
multitude.  It  is  evident  from  history,  that  in  all  considerable 


352 


BERNARD  DE  MANDEVILLE 


societies,  how  stupid  or  ridiculous  soever  peoples’  received  notions 
have  been  as  to  the  deities  they  worshipped,  human  nature  has 
ever  exerted  itself  in  all  its  branches,  and  that  there  is  no  earthly 
wisdom  or  moral  virtue,  but  at  one  time  or  other  men  have  ex- 
celled in  it  in  all  monarchies  and  commonwealths,  that  for  riches 
and  power  have  been  any  ways  remarkable. 

The  Egyptians,  not  satisfied  with  having  deified  all  the  ugly 
monsters  they  could  think  on,  were  so  silly  as  to  adore  the  onions 
of  their  own  sowing;  yet  at  the  same  time  their  country  was  the 
most  famous  nursery  of  arts  and  sciences  in  the  world,  and  them- 
selves more  eminently  skilled  in  the  deepest  mysteries  of  nature 
than  any  nation  has  been  since. 

No  states  or  kingdoms  under  heaven  have  yielded  more  or 
greater  patterns  in  all  sorts  of  moral  virtues  than  the  Greek  and 
Roman  empires,  more  especially  the  latter;  and  yet  how  loose, 
absurd,  and  ridiculous  were  their  sentiments  as  to  sacred  matters  ? 
for  without  reflecting  on  the  extravagant  number  of  their  deities,  if 
we  only  consider  the  infamous  stories  they  fathered  upon  them,  it 
is  not  to  be  denied  but  that  their  religion,  far  from  teaching  men 
the  conquest  of  their  passions,  and  the  way  to  virtue,  seemed 
rather  contrived  to  justify  their  appetites,  and  encourage  their 
vices.  But,  if  we  would  know  what  made  them  excel  in  fortitude, 
courage,  and  magnanimity,  we  must  cast  our  eyes  on  the  pomp 
of  their  triumphs,  the  magnificence  of  their  monuments  and 
arches,  their  trophies,  statues,  and  inscriptions,  the  variety  of 
their  military  crowns,  their  honours  decreed  to  the  dead,  public 
encomiums  on  the  living,  and  other  imaginary  rewards  they  be- 
stowed on  men  of  merit : and  we  shall  find,  that  what  carried  so 
many  of  them  to  the  utmost  pitch  of  self-denial,  was  nothing  but 
their  policy  in  making  use  of  the  most  effectual  means  that  hu- 
man pride  could  be  flattered  with. 

It  is  visible  then,  that  it  was  not  any  heathen  religion  or  other 
idolatrous  superstition,  that  first  put  man  upon  crossing  his  ap- 
petites and  subduing  his  dearest  inclinations,  but  the  skilful 
management  of  wary  politicians;  and  the  nearer  we  search  into 
human  nature,  the  more  we  shall  be  convinced,  that  the  moral 
virtues  are  the  political  offspring  which  flattery  begot  upon  pride. 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  MORAL  VIRTUE  353 

There  is  no  man  of  what  capacity  or  penetration  soever,  that 
is  wholly  proof  against  the  witchcraft  of  flattery,  if  artfully  per- 
formed, and  suited  to  his  abilities.  Children  and  fools  will  swal- 
low personal  praise,  but  those  that  are  more  cunning  must  be 
managed  with  greater  circumspection;  and  the  more  general  the 
flattery  is,  the  less  it  is  suspected  by  those  it  is  levelled  at.  What 
you  say  in  commendation  of  a whole  town  is  received  with  plea- 
sure by  all  the  inhabitants : speak  in  commendation  of  letters  in 
general,  and  every  man  of  learning  will  think  himself  in  particu- 
lar obliged  to  you.  You  may  safely  praise  the  employment  a man 
is  of,  or  the  country  he  was  born  in,  because  you  give  him  an  op- 
portunity of  screening  the  joy  he  feels  upon  his  own  account, 
under  the  esteem  which  he  pretends  to  have  for  others. 

But  here  I shall  be  told,  that,  besides  the  noisy  toils  of  war  and 
public  bustle  of  the  ambitious,  there  are  noble  and  generous  ac- 
tions that  are  performed  in  silence ; that  virtue  being  its  own  re- 
ward, those  who  are  really  good  have  a satisfaction  in  their  con- 
sciousness of  being  so,  which  is  all  the  recompense  they  expect 
from  the  most  worthy  performances;  that  among  the  heathens 
there  have  been  men,  who,  when  they  did  good  to  others,  were 
so  far  from  coveting  thanks  and  applause,  that  they  took  all  im- 
aginable care  to  be  for  ever  concealed  from  those  on  whom  they 
bestowed  their  benefit,  and  consequently  that  pride  has  no  hand 
in  spurring  man  on  to  the  highest  pitch  of  self-denial. 

In  answer  to  this  I say,  that  it  is  impossible  to  judge  of  a man’s 
performance,  unless  we  are  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  prin- 
ciple and  motive  from  which  he  acts.  Pity,  though  it  is  the  most 
gentle  and  the  least  mischievous  of  all  our  passions,  is  yet  as 
much  a frailty  of  our  nature,  as  anger,  pride,  or  fear.  The  weak- 
est minds  have  generally  the  greatest  share  of  it,  for  which  rea- 
son none  are  more  compassionate  than  women  and  children. 
It  must  be  owned,  that  of  all  our  weaknesses  it  is  the  most  ami- 
able, and  bears  the  greatest  resemblance  to  virtue;  nay,  without 
a considerable  mixture  of  it,  the  society  could  hardly  subsist; 
but,  as  it  is  an  impulse  of  nature,  that  consults  neither  the  public 
interest  nor  our  own  reason,  it  may  produce  evil  as  well  as  good. 


354 


BERNARD  DE  MANDEVILLE 


It  has  helped  to  destroy  the  honour  of  virgins,  and  corrupted  the 
integrity  of  judges;  and  whoever  acts  from  it  as  a principle, 
what  good  soever  he  may  bring  to  the  society,  has  nothing  to 
boast  of  but  that  he  has  indulged  a passion  that  has  happened 
to  be  beneficial  to  the  public.  There  is  no  merit  in  saving  an  in- 
nocent babe  ready  to  drop  into  the  fire ; the  action  is  neither  good 
nor  bad,  and  what  benefit  soever  the  infant  received,  we  only 
obliged  ourselves;  for  to  have  seen  it  fall,  and  not  striven  to  hin- 
der it,  would  have  caused  a pain,  which  self-preservation  com- 
pelled us  to  prevent : nor  has  a rich  prodigal,  that  happens  to  be  of 
a commiserating  temper,  and  loves  to  gratify  his  passions,  greater 
virtue  to  boast  of,  when  he  relieves  an  object  of  compassion  with 
what  to  himself  is  a trifle. 

But  such  men  as,  without  complying  with  any  weakness  of 
their  own,  can  part  from  what  they  value  themselves,  and,  from 
no  other  motive  but  their  love  to  goodness,  perform  a worthy  ac- 
tion in  silence ; such  men,  I confess,  have  acquired  more  refined 
notions  of  virtue  than  those  I have  hitherto  spoke  of;  yet  even 
in  these  (with  which  the  world  has  yet  never  swarm’d)  we  may 
discover  no  small  symptoms  of  pride,  and  the  humblest  man 
alive  must  confess,  that  the  reward  of  a virtuous  action,  which 
is  the  satisfaction  that  ensues  upon  it,  consists  in  a certain  plea- 
sure he  procures  to  himself  by  contemplating  on  his  own  worth : 
which  pleasure,  together  with  the  occasion  of  it,  are  as  certain 
signs  of  pride,  as  looking  pale  and  trembling  at  any  imminent 
danger  are  the  symptoms  of  fear. 

If  the  too  scrupulous  reader  should  at  first  view  condemn  these 
notions  concerning  the  origin  of  moral  virtue,  and  think  them 
perhaps  offensive  to  Christianity,  I hope  he’ll  forbear  his  cen- 
sures, when  he  shall  consider,  that  nothing  can  render  the  un- 
searchable depth  of  the  divine  wisdom  more  conspicuous,  than 
that  man,  whom  providence  had  designed  for  society,  should 
not  only  by  his  own  frailties  and  imperfections  be  led  into  the 
road  to  temporal  happiness,  but  likewise'receive  from  a seem- 
ing necessity  of  natural  causes,  a tincture  of  that  knowledge  in 
which  he  was  afterwards  to  be  made  perfect  by  the  true  religion, 
to  his  eternal  welfare. 


WILLIAM  WOLLASTON 

(1660-1724) 

THE  RELIGION  OF  NATURE 
DELINEATED* 

SECTION  /.  OF  MORAL  GOOD  AND  EVIL 

The  foundation  of  religion  lies  in  that  difference  between  the 
acts  of  men,  which  distinguishes  them  into  good,  evil,  indifferent. 
For  if  there  is  such  a difference,  there  must  be  religion;  and  con- 
tra. Upon  this  account  it  is  that  such  a long  and  laborious  in- 
quiry hath  been  made  after  some  general  idea,  or  some  rule,  by 
comparing  the  foresaid  acts  with  which  it  might  appear,  to  which 
kind  they  respectively  belong.  And  though  men  have  not  yet 
agreed  upon  any  one,  yet  one  certainly  there  must  be.  That, 
which  I am  going  to  propose,  has  always  seemed  to  me  not  only 
evidently  true,  but  withal  so  obvious  and  plain,  that  perhaps  for 
this  very  reason  it  hath  not  merited  the  notice  of  authors:  and 
the  use  and  application  of  it  is  so  easy,  that  if  things  are  but  fairly 
permitted  to  speak  for  themselves  their  own  natural  language, 
they  will,  with  a moderate  attention,  be  found  themselves  to  pro- 
claim their  own  rectitude  or  obliquity ; that  is,  whether  they  are 
disagreeable  to  it,  or  not.  I shall  endeavour  by  degrees  to  ex- 
plain my  meaning. 

I.  That  act,  which  may  be  denominated  morally  good  or  evil, 
must  be  the  act  of  a being  capable  of  distinguishing,  choosing, 
and  acting  for  himself : or  more  briefly,  of  an  intelligent  and  free 
agent.  Because  in  proper  speaking  no  act  at  all  can  be  ascribed 
to  that,  which  is  not  indued  with  these  capacities.  For  that, 
which  cannot  distinguish,  cannot  choose:  and  that,  which  has 
not  the  opportunity,  or  liberty  of  choosing  for  itself,  and  acting 
accordingly,  from  an  internal  principle,  acts,  if  it  acts  at  all,  un- 
der a necessity  incumbent  ab  extra.  But  that,  w'hich  acts  thus, 


* Privately  printed,  1722.  First  published,  London,  1724;  8th  ed.,  ib.,  1759. 


WILLIAM  WOLLASTON 


356 

is  in  reality  only  an  instrument  in  the  hand  of  something  which 
imposes  the  necessity;  and  cannot  properly  be  said  to  act,  but 
to  be  acted  on.  The  act  must  be  the  act  of  an  agent:  therefore 
not  of  his  instrument. 

A being  under  the  above-mentioned,  inabilities  is,  as  to  the 
morality  of  its  acts,  in  the  state  of  inert  and  passive  matter,  and 
can  be  but  a machine : to  which  no  language  or  philosophy  ever 
ascribed  rjOt]  or  mores. 

II.  Those  propositions  are  true,  which  express  things  as  they 
are : or,  truth  is  the  conformity  of  those  words  or  signs,  by  which 
things  are  exprest,  to  the  things  themselves.  Defin. 

III.  A true  proposition  may  be  denied,  or  things  may  be  de- 
nied to  be  what  they  are,  by  deeds,  as  well  as  by  express  words 
or  another  proposition.  It  is  certain  there  is  a meaning  in  many 
acts  and  gestures.  Everybody  understands  weeping,  laughing, 
shrugs,  frowns,  etc.,  these  are  a sort  of  universal  language. 


But  these  instances  do  not  come  up  to  my  meaning.  There 
are  many  acts  of  other  kinds,  such  as  constitute  the  character  of 
a man’s  conduct  in  life,  which  have  in  nature,  and  would  be  taken 
by  any  indifferent  judge  to  have  a signification,  and  to  imply 
some  proposition,  as  plainly  to  be  understood  as  if  it  was  declared 
in  words : and  therefore  if  what  such  acts  declare  to  be,  is  not, 
they  must  contradict  truth,  as  much  as  any  false  proposition  or 
assertion  can. 

If  a body  of  soldiers,  seeing  another  body  approach,  should 
fire  upon  them,  would  not  this  action  declare  that  they  were 
enemies;  and  if  they  were  not  enemies,  would  not  this  military 
language  declare  what  was  false  ? No,  perhaps  it  may  be  said ; 
this  can  only  be  called  a mistake,  like  that  which  happened  to 
the  Athenians  in  the  attack  of  Epipolae,  or  to  the  Carthaginians 
in  their  last  encampment  against  Agathocles  in  Africa.  Suppose 
then,  instead  of  this  firing,  some  officer  to  have  said  they  were 
enemies,  when  indeed  they  were  friends : would  not  that  sentence 
affirming  them  to  be  enemies  be  false,  notwithstanding  he  who 
spoke  it  was  mistaken?  The  truth  or  falsehood  of  this  affirma- 
tion doth  not  depend  upon  the  affirmer’s  knowledge  or  ignorance : 


THE  RELIGION  OF  NATURE 


357 


because  there  is  a certain  sense  affixt  to  the  words,  which  must 
either  agree  or  disagree  to  that,  concerning  which  the  afiirmation 
is  made.  The  thing  is  the  very  same  still,  if  into  the  place  of 
words  be  substituted  actions.  The  salute  here  was  in  nature  the 
salute  of  an  enemy,  but  should  have  been  the  salute  of  a friend : 
therefore  it  implied  a falsity.  Any  spectator  would  have  under- 
stood this  action  as  I do;  for  a declaration,  that  the  other  were 
enemies.  Now  what  is  to  be  understood,  has  a meaning:  and 
what  has  a meaning,  may  be  either  true  or  false:  which  is  as 
much  as  can  be  said  of  any  verbal  sentence. 

I lay  this  down  then  as  a fundamental  maxim.  That  whoe\  er 
acts  as  if  things  were  so,  or  not  so,  doth  by  his  acts  declare,  that 
they  are  so,  or  not  so ; as  plainly  as  he  could  by  words,  and  with 
more  reality.  And  if  the  things  are  otherwise,  his  acts  contra- 
dict those  propositions,  which  assert  them  to  be  as  they  are. 

IV.  No  act  (whether  word  or  deed)  of  any  being,  to  whom 
moral  good  and  evil  are  imputable,  that  interferes  with  any  true 
proposition,  or  denies  any  thing  to  be  as  it  is,  can  be  right.  For, 

1.  If  that  proposition,  which  is  false,  be  wrong,  that  act  which 
implies  such  a proposition,  or  is  founded  in  it,  cannot  be  right: 
because  it  is  the  very  proposition  itself  in  practice. 

2.  Those  propositions,  which  are  true,  and  express  things  as 
they  are,  express  the  relation  between  the  subject  and  the  at- 
tribute as  it  is;  that  is,  this  is  either  affirmed  or  denied  of  that 
according  to  the  nature  of  that  relation.  And  further,  this  rela- 
tion (or,  if  you  will,  the  nature  of  this  relation)  is  determined  and 
fixt  by  the  natures  of  the  things  themselves.  Therefore  nothing 
can  interfere  with  any  proposition  that  is  true,  but  it  must  like- 
wise interfere  with  nature  (the  nature  of  the  relation,  and  the 
natures  of  the  things  themselves  too),  and  consequently  be  un- 
natural, or  wrong  in  nature.  So  very  much  are  those  gentlemen 
mistaken,  who  by  following  nature  mean  only  complying  with 
their  bodily  inclinations,  though  in  opposition  to  truth,  or  at 
least  without  any  regard  to  it.  Truth  is  but  a conformity  to  na- 
ture ; and  to  follow  nature  cannot  be  to  combat  truth. 

3.  If  there  is  a supreme  being,  upon  whom  the  existence  of  the 


WILLIAM  WOLLASTON 


358 

world  depends;  and  nothing  can  be  in  it  but  what  He  either 
causes,  or  permits  to  be ; then  to  own  things  to  be  as  they  are  is  to 
own  what  He  causes,  or  at  least  permits,  to  be  thus  caused  or 
permitted : and  this  is  to  take  things  as  He  gives  them,  to  go  into 
His  constitution  of  the  world,  and  to  submit  to  His  will,  revealed 
in  the  books  of  nature.  To  do  this  therefore  must  be  agreeable  to 
His  will.  And  if  so,  the  contrary  must  be  disagreeable  to  it;  and, 
since  (as  we  shall  find  in  due  time)  there  is  a perfect  rectitude  in 
His  will,  certainly  wrong. 


Lastly,  To  deny  things  to  be  as  they  are  is  a transgression  of 
the  great  law  of  our  nature,  the  law  of  reason.  For  truth  cannot 
be  opposed,  but  reason  must  be  violated.  But  of  this  more  in 
the  proper  place. 

Much  might  be  added  here  concerning  the  amiable  nature,  and 
great  force  of  truth.  If  I may  judge  by  what  I feel  within  my- 
self, the  least  truth  cannot  be  contradicted  without  much  reluc- 
tance : even  to  see  other  men  disregard  it  does  something  more 
than  displease;  it  is  shocking. 

V.  What  has  been  said  of  acts  inconsistent  with  truth,  may 
also  be  said  of  many  omissions,  or  neglects  to  act : that  is,  by  these 
also  true  propositions  may  be  denied  to  be  true;  and  then  those 
omissions,  by  which  this  is  done,  must  be  wrong  for  the  same 
reasons  with  those  assigned  under  the  former  proposition. 

Nothing  can  be  asserted  or  denied  by  any  act  with  regard  to 
those  things,  to  which  it  bears  no  relation : and  here  no  truth  can 
be  affected.  And  when  acts  do  bear  such  relations  to  other  things, 
as  to  be  declaratory  of  something  concerning  them,  this  com- 
monly is  visible;  and  it  is  not  difficult  to  determine,  whether  truth 
suffers  by  them,  or  not.  Some  things  cannot  possibly  be  done, 
but  truth  must  be  directly  and  positively  denied ; and  the  thing 
wdll  be  clear.  But  the  cases  arising  from  omissions  are  not  always 
so  well  determined,  and  plain  ; it  is  not  always  easy  to  know  when 
or  how  far  truth  is  violated  by  omitting.  Here  therefore  more 
latitude  must  be  allowd,  and  much  must  be  left  to  every  one’s 
own  judgment  and  ingenuity. 

This  may  be  said  in  general,  that  when  any  truth  would  be 


THE  RELIGION  OF  NATURE 


359 


denied  by  acting,  the  omitting  to  act  can  deny  no  truth.  For  no 
truth  can  be  contrary  to  truth.  And  there  may  be  omissions  in 
other  cases,  that  are  silent  as  to  truth.  But  yet  there  are  some 
neglects  or  refusals  to  act,  which  are  manifestly  inconsistent  with 
it  (or,  with  some  true  propositions). 

Vr.  In  order  to  judge  rightly  what  anything  is,  it  must  be  con- 
sidered not  only  what  it  is  in  itself  or  in  one  respect,  but  also 
what  it  may  be  in  any  other  respect,  which  is  capable  of  being 
denied  by  facts  or  practice : and  the  whole  description  of  the  thing 
ought  to  be  taken  in. 

If  a man  steals  a horse,  and  rides  away  upon  him,  he  may  be 
said  indeed  by  riding  him  to  use  him  as  a horse,  but  not  as  the 
horse  of  another  man,  who  gave  him  no  licence  to  do  this.  He 
does  not  therefore  consider  him  as  being  what  he  is,  unless  he 
takes  in  the  respect  he  bears  to  his  true  owner.  But  it  is  not  neces- 
sary perhaps  to  consider  what  he  is  in  respect  to  his  color,  shape, 
or  age:  because  the  thief’s  riding  away  with  him  may  neither 
affirm  nor  deny  him  to  be  of  any  particular  color,  etc.  I say  there- 
fore, that  those,  and  all  those  properties,  respects,  and  circum- 
stances, which  may  be  contradicted  by  practice,  are  to  be  taken 
, into  consideration.  For  otherwise  the  thing  to  be  considered  is 
but  imperfectly  surveyed;  and  the  whole  compass  of  it  being  not 
taken  in,  it  is  taken  not  as  being  what  it  is,  but  as  what  it  is  in 
part  only,  and  in  other  respects  perhaps  as  being  what  it  is  not. 

If  a rich  man  being  upon  a journey,  should  be  robbed  and 
stripped,  it  would  be  a second  robbery  and  injustice  committed 
upon  him  to  take  from  him  part  of  his  then  character,  and  to 
consider  him  only  as  a rich  man.  His  character  completed  is  a 
rich  man  robbed  and  abused,  and  indeed  at  that  time  a poor 
man  and  distrest,  though  able  to  repay  afterwards  the  assistance 
lent  him. 

In  short,  when  things  are  truly  estimated,  persons  concerned, 
times,  places,  ends  intended,  and  effects  that  naturally  follow, 
must  be  added  to  them. 

VII.  When  any  act  would  be  wrong,  the  forbearing  that  act 
must  be  right : likewise  when  the  omission  of  anything  would  be 


WILLIAM  WOLLASTON 


360 

wrong,  the  doing  of  it  (/.  e.  not  omitting  it)  must  be  right.  Be- 
cause conlrariomm  contraria  est  ratio. 

VIII.  Moral  good  and  evil  are  coincident  with  right  and  wrong. 
For  that  cannot  be  good,  which  is  wrong;  nor  that  evil,  which 
is  right. 

IX.  Every  act  therefore  of  such  a being,  as  is  before  described, 
and  all  those  omissions  which  interfere  with  truth  {i.  e.  deny  any 
proposition  to  be  true,  which  is  true;  or  suppose  any  thing  not 
to  be  what  it  is,  in  any  regard)  are  morally  evil,  in  some  degree 
or  other ; the  forbearing  such  acts,  and  the  acting  in  opposition 
to  such  omissions  are  morally  good : and  when  any  thing  may  be 
either  done,  or  not  done,  equally  without  the  violation  of  truth, 
that  thing  is  indifferent. 

But  let  us  return  to  that,  which  is  our  main  subject,  the  dis- 
tinction between  moral  good  and  evil.  Some  have  been  so  wild 
as  to  deny  there  is  any  such  thing:  but  from  what  has  been  said 
here,  it  is  manifest,  that  there  is  as  certainly  moral  good  and  evil 
as  there  is  true  and  false;  and  that  there  is  as  natural  and  im- 
mutable a difference  between  those  as  between  these,  the  differ- 
ence at  the  bottom  being  indeed  the  same.  Others  acknowledge, 
that  there  is  indeed  moral  good  and  evil;  but  they  want  some 
criterion,  or  mark,  by  the  help  of  which  they  might  know  them 
asunder.  And  others  there  are,  who  pretend  to  have  found  that 
rule,  by  which  our  actions  ought  to  be  squared,  and  may  be  dis- 
criminated ; or  that  ultimate  end,  to  which  they  ought  all  to  be 
referred:  but  what  they  have  advanced  is  either  false,  or  not 
sufficiently  guarded,  or  not  comprehensive  enough,  or  not  clear 
and  firm,  or  (so  far  as  it  is  just)  reducible  to  my  rule.  For  they, 
who  reckon  nothing  to  be  good  but  what  they  call  honestum  may 
denominate  actions  according  as  that  is,  or  is  not  the  cause  or 
end  of  them:  but  then  what  is  honestum?  Something  is  still 
wanting  to  measure  things  by,  and  to  separate  the  honesta  from 
the  inhonesta. 

They  who  place  all  in  following  nature,  if  they  mean  by  that 
phrase  acting  according  to  the  natures  of  things  (that  is,  treating 
things  as  being  what  they  in  nature  are,  or  according  to  truth) 
say  what  is  right.  But  this  does  not  seem  to  be  their  meaning. 


THE  RELIGION  OF  NATURE  361 

And  if  it  is  only  that  a man  must  follow  his  own  nature,  since 
his  nature  is  not  purely  rational,  but  there  is  a part  of  him, 
which  he  has  in  common  with  brutes,  they  appoint  him  a guide 
which  I fear  will  mislead  him,  this  being  commonly  more  likely 
to  prevail,  than  the  rational  part.  At  best  this  talk  is  loose. 

They  who  make  right  reason  to  be  the  law,  by  which  our  acts 
are  to  be  judged,  and  according  to  their  conformity  to  this  or 
deflexion  from  it  call  them  lawful  or  unlawful,  good  or  bad,  say 
something  more  particular  and  precise.  And  indeed  it  is  true, 
that  whatever  will  bear  to  be  tried  by  right  reason,  is  right;  and 
that  which  is  condemned  by  it,  wrong.  And  moreover,  if  by  right 
reason  is  meant  that  which  is  found  by  the  right  use  of  our  rational 
faculties,  this  is  the  same  with  truth ; and  what  is  said  by  them, 
will  be  comprehended  in  what  I have  said.  But  the  manner  in 
which  they  have  delivered  themselves,  is  not  yet  explicit  enough. 
It  leaves  room  for  so  many  disputes  and  opposite  right-reasons, 
that  nothing  can  be  settled,  while  every  one  pretends  that  his 
reason  is  right.  And  beside,  what  I have  said,  extends  farther : 
for  we  are  not  only  to  respect  those  truths,  which  we  discover  by 
reasoning,  but  even  such  matters  of  fact,  as  are  fairly  discovered 
to  us  by  our  senses.  We  ought  to  regard  things  as  being  what 
they  are,  which  way  soever  we  come  to  the  knowledge  of  them. 

They,  who  contenting  themselves  with  superficial  and  transient 
views,  deduce  the  difference  between  good  and  evil  from  the 
common  sense  of  mankind,  and  certain  principles  that  are  born 
with  us,  put  the  matter  upon  a very  infirm  foot.  For  it  is  much 
to  be  suspected  there  are  no  such  innate  maxims  as  they  pre- 
tend, but  that  the  impressions  of  education  are  mistaken  for 
them:  and  beside  that,  the  sentiments  of  mankind  are  not  so 
uniform  and  constant,  as  that  we  may  safely  trust  such  an  im- 
portant distinction  upon  them. 

They,  who  own  nothing  to  be  good  but  pleasure,  or  what  they 
call  jwcMwdMm,  nothing  evil  but  pain,  and  distinguish  things  by 
their  tendencies  to  this  or  that,  do  not  agree  in  what  this  pleasure 
is  to  be  placed,  or  by  what  methods  and  actings  the  most  of  it 
may  be  obtain<ed.  These  are  left  to  be  questions  still.  As  men 
have  different  tastes,  different  degrees  of  sense  and  philosophy. 


WILLIAM  WOLLASTON 


362 

the  same  thing  cannot  be  pleasant  to  all : and  if  particular  actions 
are  to  be  proved  by  this  test,  the  morality  of  them  will  be  very 
uncertain;  the  same  act  may  be  of  one  nature  to  one  man,  and 
of  another  to  another.  Beside,  unless  there  be  some  strong  lim- 
itation added  as  a fence  for  virtue,  men  will  be  apt  to  sink  into 
gross  voluptuousness,  as  in  fact  the  generality  of  Epicurus’ 
herd  have  done  (notwithstanding  all  his  talk  of  temperance, 
virtue,  tranquillity  of  mind,  etc.) ; and  the  bridle  will  be  usurped 
by  those  appetites  which  it  is  a principal  part  of  all  religion,  nat- 
ural as  well  as  any  other,  to  curb  and  restrain.  So  these  men  say 
what  is  intelligible  indeed;  but  what  they  say  is  false.  For  not 
all  pleasures,  but  only  such  pleasure  as  is  true,  or  happiness 
(of  which  afterwards),  may  be  reckoned  among  the  fines,  or 
iillima  bonoriim. 

He,  who,  having  considered  the  two  extremes  in  men’s  prac- 
tice, in  condemning  both  which  the  world  generally  agrees,  places 
virtue  in  the  middle,  and  seems  to  raise  an  idea  of  it  from  its 
situation  at  an  equal  distance  from  the  opposite  extremes,  could 
only  design  to  be  understood  of  such  virtues,  as  have  extremes. 
It  must  be  granted  indeed,  that  whatever  declines  in  any  degree 
toward  either  extreme,  must  be  so  far  wrong  or  evil;  and  there- 
fore that,  which  equally  (or  nearly)  divides  the  distance,  and 
declines  neither  way,  must  be  right;  also,  that  his  notion  sup- 
plies us  with  a good  direction  for  common  use  in  many  cases. 
But  then  there  are  several  obligations,  that  can  by  no  means  be 
derived  from  it ; scarce  more  than  such,  as  respect  the  virtues 
couched  under  the  word  moderation.  And  even  as  to  these,  it  is 
many  times  difficult  to  discern,  which  is  the  middle  point.  This 
the  author  himself  was  sensible  of. 

And  when  his  master  Plato  makes  virtue  to  consist  in  such 
a likeness  to  God,  as  we  are  capable  of  (and  God  to  be  the  great 
exemplar),  he  says  what  I shall  not  dispute.  But  since  he  tells 
us  not  how  or  by  what  means  we  may  attain  this  likeness,  we  are 
little  the  wiser  in  point  of  practice;  unless  by  it  we  understand 
the  practice  of  truth,  God  being  truth,  and  doing  nothing  con- 
trary to  it. 

Whether  any  of  those  other  foundations,  upon  which  morality 


THE  RELIGION  OF  NATURE  363 

has  been  built,  will  hold  better  than  these  mentioned,  I much 
question.  But  if  the  formal  ratio  of  moral  good  and  evil  be  made 
to  consist  in  a conformity  of  men’s  acts  to  the  truth  of  the  case 
or  the  contrary,  as  I have  here  explained  it,  the  distinction  seems 
to  be  settled  in  a manner  undeniable,  intelligible,  practicable. 
For  as  what  is  meant  by  a true  proposition  and  matter  of  fact 
is  perfectly  understood  by  everybody;  so  will  it  be  easy  for  any 
one,  so  far  as  he  knows  any  such  propositions  and  facts,  to  com- 
pare not  only  words,  but  also  actions  with  them.  A very  little 
skill  and  attention  will  serve  to  interpret  even  these,  and  discover 
whether  they  speak  truth,  or  not. 

X.  If  there  be  moral  good  and  evil,  distinguished  as  before, 
there  is  religion;  and  such  as  may  most  properly  be  styled  natural. 
By  religion  I mean  nothing  else  but  an  obligation  to  do  (under 
which  word  I comprehend  acts  both  of  body  and  mind.  I say, 
to  do)  what  ought  not  to  be  omitted,  and  to  forbear  what  ought 
not  to  be  done.  So  that  there  must  be  religion,  if  there  are  things, 
of  which  some  ought  not  to  be  done,  some  not  to  be  omitted.  But 
that  there  are  such,  appears  from  what  has  been  said  concern- 
ing moral  good  and  evil : because  that,  which  to  omit  would  be 
evil,  and  which  therefore  being  done  would  be  good  or  well  done, 
ought  certainly  by  the  terms  to  be  done;  and  so  that,  which  being 
done  would  be  evil,  and  implies  such  absurdities  and  rebellion 
against  the  supreme  being,  as  are  mentioned  under  proposition 
the  IVth,  ought  most  undoubtedly  not  to  be  done.  And  then  since 
there  is  religion,  which  follows  from  the  distinction  between  moral 
good  and  evil;  since  this  distinction  is  founded  in  the  respect, 
which  men’s  acts  bear  to  truth ; and  since  no  proposition  can  be 
true,  which  expresses  things  otherwise  than  as  they  are  in  na- 
ture : since  things  are  so,  there  must  be  religion,  which  is  founded 
in  nature,  and  may  upon  that  account  be  most  properly  and 
truly  called  the  religion  of  nature  or  natural  religion;  the  great 
law  of  which  religion,  the  law  of  nature,  or  rather  (as  we  shall 
afterwards  find  reason  to  call  it)  of  the  Author  of  nature  is, 

XL  That  every  intelligent,  active,  and  free  being  should  so 
behave  himself,  as  by  no  act  to  contradict  truth;  or,  that  he 
should  treat  every  thing  as  being  what  it  is.  . . . 


364 


WILLIAM  WOLLASTON 


SECTION  II.  OF  HAPPINESS 

That,  which  demands  to  be  next  considered,  is  happiness ; as 
being  in  itself  most  considerable;  as  abetting  the  cause  of  truth; 
and  as  being  indeed  so  nearly  allied  to  it,  that  they  cannot  well 
be  parted.  We  cannot  pay  the  respects  due  to  one,  unless  we 
regard  the  other.  Happiness  must  not  be  denied  to  be  what  it 
is ; and  it  is  by  the  practice  of  truth  that  we  aim  at  that  happiness, 
which  is  true. 


II.  Pain  considered  in  itself  is  a real  evil,  pleasure  a real  good. 
I take  this  as  a postulatum,  that  will  without  difficulty  be  granted. 
Therefore, 


V.  When  pleasures  and  pains  are  equal,  they  mutually  de- 
stroy each  other : when  the  one  exceeds,  the  excess  gives  the  true 
quantity  of  pleasure  or  pain.  For  nine  degrees  of  pleasure,  less 
by  nine  degrees  of  pain,  are  equal  to  nothing : but  nine  degrees 
of  one,  less  by  three  degrees  of  the  other,  give  six  of  the  former 
net  and  true. 

VI.  As  therefore  there  may  be  true  pleasure  and  pain : so  there 
may  be  some  pleasures,  which  compared  with  what  attends  or 
follows  them,  not  only  may  vanish  into  nothing,  but  may  even 
degenerate  into  pain,  and  ought  to  be  reckoned  as  pains;  and 
V.  V.  some  pains,  that  may  be  annumerated  to  pleasures.  For 
the  true  quantity  of  pleasure  differs  not  from  that  quantity  of 
true  pleasure;  or  it  is  so  much  of  that  kind  of  pleasure,  which  is 
true  (clear  of  all  discounts  and  future  payments) : nor  can  the 
true  quantity  of  pain  not  be  the  same  with  that  quantity  of  truth 
or  mere  pain. 


VIII.  That  being  may  be  said  to  be  ultimately  happy,  in  some 
degree  or  other,  the  sum  total  of  whose  pleasures  exceeds  the 
sum  of  all  his  pains : or,  ultimate  happiness  is  the  sum  of  hap- 
piness, or  true  pleasure,  at  the  foot  of  the  account.  And  so 
on  the  other  side,  that  being  may  be  said  to  be  ultimately  un- 


THE  RELIGION  OF  NATURE  365 

happy,  the  sum  of  all  whose  pains  exceeds  that  of  all  his  plea- 
sures. 

IX.  To  make  itself  happy  is  a duty,  which  every  being,  in  pro- 
portion to  its  capacity,  owes  to  itself;  and  that,  which  every  in- 
telligent being  may  be  supposed  to  aim  at,  in  general.  For  hap- 
piness is  some  quantity  of  true  pleasure : and  that  pleasure,  which 
I call  true,  may  be  considered  by  itself,  and  so  will  be  justly  de- 
sirable (according  to  prop.  II.  and  III.).  On  the  contrary,  un- 
happiness is  certainly  to  be  avoided:  because  being  a quantity 
of  mere  pain,  it  may  be  considered  by  itself,  as  a real,  mere  evil, 
etc.  and  because  if  I am  obliged  to  pursue  happiness,  I am  at 
the  same  time  obliged  to  recede,  as  far  as  I can,  from  its  contrary. 
All  this  is  self-evident.  And  hence  it  follows,  that, 

X.  We  cannot  act  with  respect  to  either  ourselves,  or  other 
men,  as  being  what  we  and  they  are,  unless  both  are  considered 
as  beings  susceptive  of  happiness  and  unhappiness,  and  natu- 
rally desirous  of  the  one  and  averse  to  the  other.  Other  animals 
may  be  considered  after  the  same  manner  in  proportion  to  their 
several  degrees  of  apprehension. 

But  that  the  nature  of  happiness,  and  the  road  to  it,  which  is 
so  very  apt  to  be  mistaken,  may  be  better  understood ; and  true 
pleasures  more  certainly  distinguished  from  false;  the  follow- 
mg  propositions  must  still  be  added. 

XI.  As  the  true  and  ultimate  happiness  of  no  being  can  be 
produced  by  any  thing,  that  interferes  with  truth,  and  denies  the 
natures  of  things : so  neither  can  the  practice  of  truth  make  any 
being  ultimately  unhappy.  For  that,  which  contradicts  nature 
and  truth,  opposes  the  will  of  the  Author  of  nature,  and  to  sup- 
pose, that  an  inferior  being  may  in  opposition  to  His  will  break 
through  the  constitution  of  things,  and  by  so  doing  make  him- 
self happy,  is  to  suppose  that  being  more  potent  than  the  Au- 
thor of  nature,  and  consequently  more  potent  than  the  author 
of  the  nature  and  power  of  that  very  being  himself,  which  is 
absurd.  And  as  to  the  other  part  of  the  proposition,  it  is  also 
absurd  to  think,  that,  by  the  constitution  of  nature  and  will  of 
its  author,  any  being  should  be  finally  miserable  only  for  con- 
forming himself  to  truth,  and  owning  things  and  the  relations 


WILLIAM  WOLLASTON 


366 

lying  between  them  to  be  what  they  are.  It  is  much  the  same 
as  to  say,  God  has  made  it  natural  to  contradict  nature;  or 
unnatural,  and  therefore  punishable,  to  act  according  to  nature 
and  reality.  If  such  a blunder  (excuse  the  boldness  of  the  word) 
could  be,  it  must  come  either  through  a defect  of  power  in  Him 
to  cause  a better  and  more  equitable  scheme,  or  from  some  de- 
light, which  he  finds  in  the  misery  of  his  dependents.  The  former 
cannot  be  ascribed  to  the  First  cause,  who  is  the  fountain  of 
power:  nor  the  latter  to  Him,  who  gives  so  many  proofs  of  his 
goodness  and  beneficence.  Many  beings  may  be  said  to  be 
happy;  and  there  are  none  of  us  all,  who  have  not  many  enjoy- 
ments: whereas  did  he  delight  in  the  infelicity  of  those  beings, 
which  depend  upon  Him,  it  must  be  natural  to  Him  to  make 
them  unhappy,  and  then  not  one  of  them  would  be  otherwise  in 
any  respect.  The  world  in  that  case  instead  of  being  such  a beau- 
tiful, admirable  system,  in  which  there  is  only  a mixture  of  evils, 
could  have  been  only  a scene  of  mere  misery,  horror,  and  tor- 
ment. 

That  either  the  enemies  of  truth  (wicked  men)  should  be  ulti- 
mately happy,  or  the  religious  observers  of  it  (good  men)  ulti- 
mately unhappy,  is  such  injustice,  and  an  evil  so  great,  that  sure 
no  Manichean  will  allow  such  a superiority  of  his  evil  principle 
over  the  good,  as  is  requisite  to  produce  and  maintain  it. 

XII.  The  genuine  happiness  of  every  being  must  be  some- 
thing, that  is  not  incompatible  with  or  destructive  of  its  nature, 
or  the  superior  or  better  part  of  it,  if  it  be  mixed.  For  instance, 
nothing  can  be  the  true  happiness  of  a rational  being,  that  is  in- 
consistent with  reason.  For  all  pleasure,  and  therefore  be  sure 
all  clear  pleasure  and  true  happiness  must  be  something  agree- 
able (pr.  I.) : and  nothing  can  be  agreeable  to  a reasoning  nature, 
or  (which  is  the  same)  to  the  reason  of  that  nature,  which  is  re- 
pugnant and  disagreeable  to  reason.  If  any  thing  becomes  agree- 
able to  a rational  being,  which  is  not  agreeable  to  reason,  it  is 
plain  his  reason  is  lost,  his  nature  depressed,  and  that  he  now  lifts 
himself  among  irrationals,  at  least  as  to  that  particular.  If  a 
being  finds  pleasure  in  any  thing  unreasonable,  he  has  an  un- 
reasonable pleasure;  but  a rational  nature  can  like  nothing  of 


THE  RELIGION  OF  NATURE 


367 

that  kind  without  a contradiction  to  itself.  For  to  do  this  would 
be  to  act,  as  if  it  was  the  contrary  to  what  it  is.  Lastly,  if  we  find 
hereafter,  that  whatever  interferes  with  reason,  interferes  with 
truth,  and  to  contradict  either  of  them  is  the  same  thing;  then 
what  has  been  said  under  the  former  proposition,  does  also  con- 
firm this : as  what  has  been  said  in  proof  of  this,  does  also  con- 
firm the  former. 

XIII.  Those  pleasures  are  true,  and  to  be  reckoned  into  our 
happiness,  against  which  there  lies  no  reason.  For  when  there 
is  no  reason  against  any  pleasure,  there  is  always  one  for  it,  in- 
cluded in  the  term.  So  when  there  is  no  reason  for  undergoing 
pain  (or  venturing  it),  there  is  one  against  it. 

Obs.  There  is  therefore  no  necessity  for  men  to  torture  their 
inventions  in  finding  out  arguments  to  justify  themselves  in  the 
pursuits  after  worldly  advantages  and  enjoyments,  provided  that 
neither  these  enjoyments,  nor  the  means  by  which  they  are  at- 
tained, contain  the  violation  of  any  truth,  by  being  unjust,  im- 
moderate, or  the  like.  For  in  this  case  there  is  no  reason  why 
we  should  not  desire  them,  and  a direct  one,  why  we  should; 
viz.  because  they  are  enjoyments. 

XIV.  To  conclude  this  section,  the  way  to  happiness  and  the 
practice  of  truth  incur  the  one  into  the  other.  For  no  being  can 
be  styled  happy,  that  is  not  ultimately  so : because  if  all  his  pains 
exceed  all  his  pleasures,  he  is  so  far  from  being  happy,  that  he 
is  a being  unhappy  or  miserable,  in  proportion  to  that  excess. 
Now  by  prop.  XI,  nothing  can  produce  the  ultimate  happiness 
of  any  being,  which  interferes  with  truth:  and  therefore  whatever 
doth  produce  that,  must  be  something  which  is  consistent  and 
coincident  with  this. 

Two  things  then  (but  such  as  are  met  together,  and  embrace 
each  other),  which  are  to  be  religiously  regarded  in  all  our  con- 
duct, are  truth  (of  which  in  the  preceding  section)  and  happiness 
(that  is,  such  pleasures,  as  company,  or  follow  the  practice  of 
truth,  or  are  not  inconsistent  with  it:  of  which  I have  been  treat- 
ing in  this).  And  as  that  religion,  which  arises  from  the  distinc- 
tion between  moral  good  and  evil,  was  called  natural,  because 
grounded  upon  truth  and  the  natures  of  things : so  perhaps  may 


WILLIAM  WOLLASTON 


368 

that  too,  which  proposes  happiness  for  its  end,  in  as  much  as  it 
proceeds  upon  that  difference,  which  there  is  between  true  plea- 
sure and  pain,  which  are  physical  (or  natural)  good  and  evil. 
And  since  both  these  unite  so  amicably,  and  are  at  last  the  same, 
here  is  one  religion  which  may  be  called  natural  upon  two  ac- 
counts. 

000000000?>vO  c- 


JOSEPH  BUTLER 

( 1692-1752 ) 

SERMONS* 

PREFACE 

There  are  two  ways  in  which  the  subject  of  morals  may  be 
treated.  One  begins  from  inquiring  into  the  abstract  relations  of 
things ; the  other  from  matter  of  fact,  namely,  what  the  particu- 
lar nature  of  man  is,  its  several  parts,  their  economy  or  constitu- 
tion; from  whence  it  proceeds  to  determine  what  course  of  life  it 
is,  which  is  correspondent  to  this  whole  nature.  In  the  former 
method  the  conclusion  is  expressed  thus,  that  vice  is  contrary  to 
the  nature  and  reason  of  things ; in  the  latter,  that  it  is  a violation 
cr  breaking  in  upon  our  own  nature.  Thus  they  both  lead  us  to 
the  same  thing,  our  obligations  to  the  practice  of  virtue ; and  thus 
they  exceedingly  strengthen  and  enforce  each  other.  The  first 
seems  the  most  direct  formal  proof,  and  in  seme  respects  the  least 
liable  to  cavil  and  dispute;  the  latter  is  in  a peculiar  manner 
adapted  to  satisfy  a fair  mind,  and  is  more  easily  applicable  to 
the  several  particular  relations  and  circumstances  in  life. 

The  following  Discourses  proceed  chiefly  in  this  latter  method. 
The  first  three  wholly.  They  were  intended  to  explain  what  is 
meant  by  the  nature  of  man,  when  it  is  said  that  virtue  consists 
in  following,  and  vice  in  deviating  from  it ; and  by  explaining  to 
show  that  the  assertion  is  true.  . . . 

SERMON  /.  UPON  THE  SOCIAL  NATURE  OF  MAN 

For  as  we  have  mmiy  members  in  one  body,  and  all  members  have  not  the  same  of- 
fice : so  we  being  many  are  one  body  in  Christ,  and  every  one  members  one  of  an- 
other. — Rom.  xii.  4,  5. 

The  relation  which  the  several  parts  or  members  of  the  natural 
body  have  to  each  other  and  to  the  whole  body,  is  here  compared 
to  the  relation  which  each  particular  person  in  society  has  to 

* From  Joseph  Butler’s  Fifteen  Sermons  upon  Human  Nature,  London,  1726; 
2 ed.,  1729. 


370  JOSEPH  BUTLER 

other  particular  persons  and  to  the  whole  society;  and  the  latter 
is  intended  to  be  illustrated  by  the  former.  And  if  there  be  a like- 
ness between  these  two  relations,  the  consequence  is  obvious: 
that  the  latter  shows  us  we  were  intended  to  do  good  to  others, 
as  the  former  shows  us  that  the  several  members  of  the  natural 
body  were  intended  to  be  instruments  of  good  to  each  other  and 
to  the  whole  body.  But  as  there  is  scarce  any  ground  for  a com- 
parison between  society  and  the  mere  material  body,  this  with- 
out the  mind  being  a dead  unactive  thing;  much  less  can  the 
comparison  be  carried  to  any  length.  And  since  the  apostle  speaks 
of  the  several  members  as  having  distinct  offices,  which  implies 
the  mind;  it  cannot  be  thought  an  unallowable  liberty;  instead 
of  the  body  and  its  members,  to  substitute  the  whole  nature  of  man, 
and  all  the  variety  of  internal  principles  which  belong  to  it.  And 
then  the  comparison  will  be  between  the  nature  of  man  as  re- 
specting self,  and  tending  to  private  good,  his  own  preservation 
and  happiness;  and  the  nature  of  man  as  having  respect  to  so- 
ciety, and  tending  to  promote  public  good,  the  happiness  of  that 
society.  These  ends  do  indeed  perfectly  coincide;  and  to  aim  at 
public  and  private  good  are  so  far  from  being  inconsistent,  that 
they  mutually  promote  each  other : yet  in  the  fo  lowing  discourse 
they  must  be  considered  as  entirely  distinct;  otherwise  the  nature 
of  man  as  tending  to  one,  or  as  tending  to  the  other  cannot  be 
compared.  There  can  no  comparison  be  made,  without  consid- 
ering the  things  compared  as  distinct  and  different. 

From  this  review  and  comparison  of  the  nature  of  man  as  re- 
specting self,  and  as  respecting  society,  it  will  plainly  appear, 
that  there  are  as  real  and  the  same  kind  of  indications  in  human 
nature,  that  we  were  made  for  society  and  to  do  good  to  our  fellow- 
creat.ires,  as  that  we  were  intended  to  take  care  of  our  own  life  and 
health  and  privat  ■ good:  and  that  the  same  object  ons  lie  against 
one  of  these  assertions,  as  against  the  other.  For, 

First,  there  is  a natural  principle  of  benevolence  in  man;  which 
is  in  some  degree  to  society,  what  self-love  is  to  the  individual. 
And  if  there  be  in  mankind  any  disposition  to  friendship ; if  there 
be  any  such  thing  as  compassion,  for  compassion  is  momentary 
love;  if  there  be  any  such  thing  as  the  paternal  or  filial  affections; 


SERMONS 


371 


if  there  be  any  affection  in  human  nature,  the  object  and  end 
of  which  is  the  good  of  another,  this  is  itself  benevolence,  or  the 
love  of  another.  Be  it  ever  so  short,  be  it  in  ever  so  low  a degree, 
or  ever  so  unhappily  confined;  it  proves  the  assertion,  and  points 
out  what  we  were  designed  for,  as  really  as  though  it  were  in  a 
higher  degree  and  more  extensive.  I must,  however,  remind  you 
that  though  benevolence  and  self-love  are  different;  though  the 
former  tends  most  directly  to  public  good,  and  the  latter  to  pri- 
vate : yet  they  are  so  perfectly  coincident  that  the  greatest  satis- 
factions to  ourselves  depend  upon  our  having  benevolence  in  a 
due  degree;  and  that  self-love  is  one  chief  security  of  our  right 
behaviour  towards  society.  It  may  be  added,  that  their  mutual 
coinciding,  so  that  we  can  scarce  promote  one  without  the  other, 
is  equally  a proof  that  we  were  made  for  both. 

Secondly,  This  will  further  appear,  from  observing  that  the 
several  passions  and  affections,  which  are  distinct  both  from  be- 
nevolence and  self-love,  do  in  general  contribute  and  lead  us  to 
public  good  as  really  as  to  private.  It  might  be  thought  too  mi- 
nute and  particular,  and  would  carry  us  too  great  a length,  to 
distinguish  between  and  compare  together  the  several  passions 
or  appetites  distinct  from  benevolence,  whose  primary  use  and 
intention  is  the  security  and  good  of  society;  and  the  passions 
distinct  from  self-love,  whose  primary  intention  and  design  is  the 
security  and  good  of  the  individual.  It  is  enough  to  the  present 
argument,  that  desire  of  esteem  from  others,  contempt  and  es- 
teem of  them,  love  of  society  as  distinct  from  affection  to  the  good 
of  it,  indignation  against  successful  vice,  that  these  are  public 
affections  or  passions ; have  an  immediate  respect  to  others,  nat- 
urally lead  us  to  regulate  our  behaviour  in  such  a manner  as  will 
be  of  service  to  our  fellow-creatures.  If  any  or  all  of  these  may 
be  considered  likewise  as  private  affections,  as  tending  to  private 
good ; this  does  not  hinder  them  from  being  public  affections  too, 
or  destroy  the  good  influence  of  them  upon  society,  and  their 
tendency  to  public  good.  It  may  be  added,  that  as  persons  with- 
out any  conviction  from  reason  of  the  desirableness  of  life,  would 
yet  of  course  preserve  it  merely  from  the  appetite  of  hunger;  so 
by  acting  merely  from  regard  (suppose)  to  reputation,  without 


372  JOSEPH  BUTLER 

any  consideration  of  the  good  of  others,  men  often  contribute  to 
public  good.  In  both  these  instances  they  are  plainly  instruments 
in  the  hands  of  another,  in  the  hands  of  Providence,  to  carry  on 
ends,  the  preservation  of  the  individual  and  good  of  society, 
which  they  themselves  have  not  in  their  view  or  intention.  The 
sum  is,  men  have  various  appetites,  passions,  and  particular  af- 
fections, quite  distinct  both  from  self-love  and  from  benevolence: 
all  of  these  have  a tendency  to  promote  both  public  and  private 
good,  and  may  be  considered  as  respecting  others  and  ourseh’es 
equally  and  in  common : but  som.e  of  them  seem  most  imme- 
diately to  respect  others,  or  tend  to  public  good ; others  of  them 
most  immediately  to  respect  self,  or  tend  to  private  good : as  the 
former  are  not  benevolence,  so  the  latter  are  not  self-love:  neither 
sort  are  instances  of  cur  love  either  to  ourselves  or  others;  but 
only  instances  of  our  Maker’s  care  and  love  both  of  the  individual 
and  the  species,  and  proofs  that  he  intended  we  should  be  in- 
struments of  good  to  each  other,  as  well  as  that  we  should  be  so 
to  ourseh'es. 

Thirdly,  There  is  a principle  of  reflection  in  men,  by  which 
they  distinguish  between,  approve,  and  disapprove  their  owm 
actions.  We  are  plainly  constituted  such  sort  of  creatures  as  to 
reflect  upon  our  own  nature.  The  mind  can  take  a view  of  what 
passes  within  itself,  its  propensions,  aversions,  passions,  affec- 
tions, as  respecting  such  objects,  and  in  such  degrees;  and  of 
the  several  actions  consequent  thereupon.  In  this  survey  it  ap- 
proves of  one,  disapproves  of  another,  and  tow^ards  a third  is 
affected  in  neither  of  these  ways,  but  is  quite  indifferent.  This 
principle  in  man,  by  wTich  he  approves  or  disapproves  his  heart, 
temper,  and  actions,  is  conscience;  for  this  is  the  strict  sense  of 
the  word,  though  sometimes  it  is  used  so  as  to  take  in  more.  And 
that  this  faculty  tends  to  restrain  men  from  doing  mischief  to 
each  other  , and  leads  them  to  do  good,  is  too  manifest  to  need 
being  insisted  upon.  Thus  a parent  has  the  affection  of  love  to 
his  children:  this  leads  him  to  take  care  of,  to  educate,  to  make 
due  provision  for  them : the  natural  affection  leads  to  this ; but 
the  reflection  that  it  is  his  proper  business,  what  belongs  to  him, 


SERMONS 


373 


that  it  is  right  and  commendable  so  to  do;  this  added  to  the  af- 
fection becomes  a much  more  settled  principle,  and  carries  him 
on  through  more  labour  and  difficulties  for  the  sake  of  his  chil- 
dren, than  he  would  imdergo  from  that  affection  alone,  if  he 
thought  it,  and  the  course  of  action  it  led  to,  either,  indifferent  or 
criminal.  This  indeed  is  impossible,  to  do  that  which  is  good 
and  not  to  approve  of  it;  for  which  reason  they  are  frequently  not 
considered  as  distinct,  though  they  really  are;  for  men  often 
approve  of  the  actions  of  others,  which  they  will  not  imitate,  and 
likewise  do  that  which  they  approve  not.  It  cannot  possibly  be 
denied  that  there  is  this  principle  of  reflection  or  conscience  in 
human  nature.  Suppose  a man  to  relieve  an  innocent  person  in 
great  distress ; suppose  the  same  man  afterwards,  in  the  fury  of 
anger,  to  do  the  greatest  mischief  to  a person  who  had  given  no 
just  cause  of  offence;  to  aggravate  the  injury,  add  the  circum- 
stances of  former  friendship,  and  obligation  from  the  injured 
person ; let  the  man  who  is  supposed  to  have  done  these  two  dif- 
ferent actions,  coolly  reflect  upon  them  afterwards,  without  re- 
gard to  their  consequences  to  himself : to  assert  that  any  common 
man  would  be  affected  in  the  same  way  towards  these  different 
actions,  that  he  would  make  no  distinction  between  them,  but 
approve  or  disapprove  them  equally,  is  too  glaring  a falsity  to 
need  being  confuted.  There  is  therefore  this  principle  of  reflec- 
tion or  conscience  in  mankind.  It  is  needless  to  compare  the  re- 
spect it  has  to  private  good,  with  the  respect  it  has  to  public; 
since  it  plainly  tends  as  much  to  the  latter  as  to  the  former,  and 
is  commonly  thought  to  tend  chiefly  to  the  latter.  This  faculty 
is  now  mentioned  merely  as  another  part  in  the  inward  frame  of 
man,  pointing  out  to  us  in  some  degree  what  we  are  intended 
for,  and  as  what  will  naturally  and  of  course  have  some  influence. 
The  particular  place  assigned  to  it  by  nature,  what  authority  it 
has,  and  how  great  influence  it  ought  to  have,  shall  be  hereafter 
considered. 

From  this  comparison  of  benevolence  and  self-love,  of  our 
public  and  private  affections,  of  the  courses  of  life  they  lead  to, 
and  of  the  principle  of  reflection  or  conscience  as  respecting  each 


374  JOSEPH  BUTLER 

of  them,  it  is  as  manifest,  that  we  were  made  for  society,  and  to 
promote  the  happiness  of  it,  as  that  we  were  intended  to  take  care 
of  our  own  life,  and  health,  and  private  good. 

And  from  this  whole  review  must  be  given  a different  draught 
of  human  nature  from  what  we  are  often  presented  with.  Man- 
kind are  by  nature  so  closely  united,  there  is  such  a correspond- 
ence between  the  inward  sensations  of  one  man  and  those  of 
another,  that  disgrace  is  as  much  avoided  as  bodily  pain,  and  to 
be  the  object  of  esteem  and  love  as  much  desired  as  any  external 
goods : and  in  many  particular  cases  persons  are  carried  on  to  do 
good  to  others,  as  the  end  their  affection  tends  to  and  rests  in; 
and  manifest  that  they  find  real  satisfaction  and  enjoyment  in 
this  course  of  behaviour.  There  is  such  a natural  principle  of 
attraction  in  man  towards  man,  that  having  trod  the  same  tract 
of  land,  having  breathed  in  the  same  climate,  barely  having  been 
born  in  the  same  artificial  district  or  division,  becomes  the  occa- 
sion of  contracting  acquaintances  and  familiarities  many  years 
after : for  anything  may  serve  the  purpose.  Thus  relations  merely 
nominal  are  sought  and  invented,  not  by  governors,  but  by  the 
lowest  of  the  people,  which  are  found  sufficient  to  hold  mankind 
together  in  little  fraternities  and  copartnerships;  weak  ties  in- 
deed, and  what  may  afford  fund  enough  for  ridicule,  if  they  are 
absurdly  considered  as  the  real  principles  of  that  union;  but  they 
are  in  truth  merely  the  occasions,  as  anything  maybe  of  anything 
upon  which  our  nature  carries  us  on  according  to  its  own  pre- 
vious bent  and  bias;  which  occasions  therefore  would  be  nothing 
at  all,  were  there  not  this  prior  disposition  and  bias  of  nature. 
Men  are  so  much  one  body,  that  in  a peculiar  manner  they  feel 
for  each  other  shame,  sudden  danger,  resentment,  honour,  pros- 
perity, distress;  one  or  another,  or  all  of  these,  from  the  social 
nature  in  general,  from  benevolence,  upon  the  occasion  of  natu- 
ral relation,  acquaintance,  protection,  dependence ; each  of  these 
being  distinct  cements  of  society.  And  therefore  to  have  no  re- 
straint from,  no  regard  to  others  in  our  behaviour,  is  the  specu- 
lative absurdity  of  considering  ourselves  as  single  and  indepen- 
dent, as  having  nothing  in  our  nature  which  has  respect  to  our 
fellow-creatures,  reduced  to  action  and  practice.  And  this  is  the 


SERMONS 


375 

same  absurdity,  as  to  suppose  a hand,  or  any  part  to  have  no 
natural  respect  to  any  other,  or  to  the  whole  body. 

But  allowing  all  this,  it  may  be  asked,  “Has  not  man  dispo- 
sitions and  principles  within,  which  lead  him  to  do  evil  to  others, 
as  well  as  to  do  good?  Whence  come  the  many  miseries  else, 
which  men  are  the  authors  and  instruments  of  to  each  other?” 
These  questions,  so  far  as  they  relate  to  the  foregoing  discourse, 
may  be  answered  by  asking.  Has  not  man  also  dispositions  and 
principles  within,  which  lead  him  to  do  evil  to  himself,  as  well 
as  good?  Whence  come  the  many  miseries  else,  sickness,  pain, 
and  death,  which  men  are  instruments  and  authors  of  to  them- 
selves ? 

It  may  be  thought  more  easy  to  answer  one  of  these  questions 
than  the  other,  but  the  answer  to  both  is  really  the  same;  that 
mankind  have  ungoverned  passions  which  they  will  gratify  at 
any  rate,  as  well  to  the  injury  of  others,  as  in  contradiction  to 
known  private  interest;  but  that  as  there  is  no  such  thing  as  self- 
hatred,  so  neither  is  there  any  such  thing  as  ill-will  in  one  man 
towards  another,  emulation  and  resentment  being  away,  whereas 
there  is  plainly  benevolence  or  good-will ; there  is  no  such  thing 
as  love  of  injustice,  oppression,  treachery,  ingratitude,  but  only 
eager  desires  after  such  and  such  external  goods ; which,  accord- 
ing to  a very  ancient  observation,  the  most  abandoned  would 
choose  to  obtain  by  innocent  means,  if  they  were  as  easy,  and  as 
effectual  to  their  end;  that  even  emulation  and  resentment,  by 
any  one  who  will  consider  what  these  passions  really  are  in  na- 
ture, will  be  found  nothing  to  the  purpose  of  this  objection : and 
that  the  principles  and  passions  in  the  mind  of  man,  which  are 
distinct  both  from  self-love  and  benevolence,  primarily  and  most 
directly  lead  to  right  behaviour  with  regard  to  others  as  well  as 
himself,  and  only  secondarily  and  accidentally  to  what  is  evil. 
Thus  though  men,  to  avoid  the  shame  of  one  villany,  are  some- 
times guilty  of  a greater,  yet  it  is  easy  to  see,  that  the  original 
tendency  of  shame  is  to  prevent  the  doing  of  shameful  actions; 
and  its  leading  men  to  conceal  such  actions  when  done,  is  only 
in  consequence  of  their  being  done ; i.  e.  of  the  passion’s  not  hav- 
ing answered  its  first  end. 


376  JOSEPH  BUTLER 

If  it  be  said,  that  there  are  persons  in  the  world,  who  are  in 
great  measure  without  the  natural  affections  towards  their  fellow- 
creatures:  there  are  likewise  instances  of  persons  without  the 
common  natural  affections  to  themselves ; but  the  nature  of  man 
is  not  to  be  judged  of  by  either  of  these,  but  by  what  appears  in 
the  common  world,  in  the  bulk  of  mankind. 

I am  afraid  it  would  be  thought  very  strange,  if  to  confirm  the 
truth  of  this  account  of  human  nature,  and  make  out  the  justness 
of  the  foregoing  comparison,  it  should  be  added,  that,  from  what 
appears,  men  in  fact  as  much  and  as  often  contradict  that  part 
of  their  nature  which  respects  self,  and  which  leads  them  to  their 
own  private  good  and  happiness,  as  they  contradict  that  part 
of  it  which  respects  society,  and  tends  to  public  good,  that  there 
are  as  few  persons,  who  attain  the  greatest  satisfaction  and  en- 
joyment which  they  might  attain  in  the  present  world;  as  who 
do  the  greatest  good  to  others  which  they  might  do;  nay,  that 
there  are  as  few  who  can  be  said  really  and  in  earnest  to  aim  at 
one,  as  at  the  other.  Take  a survey  of  mankind:  the  world  in 
general,  the  good  and  bad,  almost  without  exception,  equally 
are  agreed,  that  were  religion  out  of  the  case,  the  happiness  of 
the  present  life  would  consist  in  a manner  wholly  in  riches,  hon- 
ours, sensual  gratifications;  insomuch  that  one  scarce  hears  a 
reflection  made  upon  prudence,  life,  conduct,  but  upon  this  sup- 
position. Yet  on  the  contrary,  that  persons  in  the  greatest  afflu- 
ence of  fortune  are  no  happier  than  such  as  have  only  a com- 
petency; that  the  cares  and  disappointments  of  ambition  for  the 
most  part  far  exceed  the  satisfactions  of  it;  as  also  the  miserable 
intervals  of  intemperance  and  excess,  and  the  many  untimely 
deaths  occasioned  by  a dissolute  course  of  life : these  things  are 
all  seen,  acknowledged,  by  every  one  acknowledged;  but  are 
thought  no  objections  against,  though  they  expressly  contradict, 
this  universal  prinriple,  that  the  happiness  of  the  present  life 
consists  in  one  or  other  of  them.  Whence  is  all  this  absurdity 
and  contradiction?  Is  not  the  middle  way  obvious?  Can  any 
thing  be  more  manifest,  than  that  the  happiness  of  life  consists 
in  these  possessed  and  enjoyed  only  to  a certain  degree ; that  to 
pursue  them  beyond  this  degree,  is  always  attended  with  more 


SERMONS 


377 


inconvenience  than  advantage  to  a man’s  self,  and  often  with  ex- 
treme misery  and  unhappiness  ? Whence  then,  I say,  is  all  this 
absurdity  and  contradiction?  Is  it  really  the  result  of  considera- 
tion in  mankind,  how  they  may  become  most  easy  to  themselves, 
most  free  from  care,  and  enjoy  the  chief  happiness  attainable  in 
this  world  ? Or  is  it  not  manifestly  owing  either  to  this,  that  they 
have  not  cool  and  reasonable  concern  enough  for  themselves  to 
consider  wherein  their  chief  happiness  in  the  present  life  con- 
sists; or  else,  if  they  do  consider  it,  that  they  will  not  act  con- 
formably to  what  is  the  result  of  that  consideration : i.  e.  reason- 
able concern  for  themselves,  or  cool  self-love  is  prevailed  over 
by  passion  and  appetite.  So  that  from  what  appears,  there  is  no 
ground  to  assert  that  those  principLs  in  the  nature  of  man,  which 
most  directly  lead  to  promote  the  good  of  our  fellow-creatures, 
are  more  generally  or  in  a greater  degree  violat.d,  than  those, 
which  most  directly  lead  us  to  promote  our  own  private  good 
and  happiness. 

The  sum  of  the  whole  is  plainly  this.  The  nature  of  man  con- 
sidered in  his  single  capacity,  and  with  respect  only  to  the  pre- 
sent world,  is  adapted  and  leads  him  to  attain  the  greatest  hap- 
piness he  can  for  himself  in  the  present  world.  The  nature  of  man 
considered  in  his  public  or  social  capacity  leads  him  to  a right 
behaviour  in  society,  to  that  course  of  life  which  we  call  virtue. 
Men  follow  or  obey  their  nature  in  both  these  capacities  and  re- 
spects to  a certain  degree,  but  not  entirely : their  actions  do  not 
come  up  to  the  whole  of  what  their  nature  leads  them  to  in  either 
of  these  capacities  or  respects : and  they  often  violate  their  nature 
in  both,  i.  e.  as  they  neglect  the  duties  they  owe  to  their  fellow- 
creatures,  to  which  their  nature  leads  them;  and  are  injurious, 
to  which  their  nature  is  abhorrent;  so  there  is  a manifest  negli- 
gence in  men  of  their  real  happiness  or  interest  in  the  present 
world,  when  that  interest  is  inconsistent  with  a present  gratifica- 
tion; for  the  sake  of  which  they  negligently,  nay,  even  knowingly, 
are  the  authors  and  instruments  of  their  own  misery  and  ruin. 
Thus  they  are  as  often  unjust  to  themselves  as  to  others,  and  for 
the  most  part  are  equally  so  to  both  by  the  same  actions. 


378 


JOSEPH  BUTLER 


SERMON  IL,  III.  UPON  THE  NATURAL  SUPREM. 

ACT  OF  CONSCIENCE 

For  when  the  Gentiles,  which  have  not  the  law,  do  hy  nature  the  things  contained  in 

the  law,  these,  having  not  the  law,  are  a law  7into  themselves.  — Rom.  ii.  14. 

As  speculative  truth  admits  of  different  kinds  of  proof,  so  like- 
wise moral  obligations  may  be  shown  by  different  methods.  If 
the  real  nature  of  any  creature  leads  him  and  is  adapted  to  such 
and  such  purposes  only,  or  more  than  to  any  other;  this  is  a rea- 
son to  believe  the  author  of  that  nature  intended  it  for  those  pur- 
poses. Thus  there  is  no  doubt  the  eye  was  intended  for  us  to  see 
with.  And  the  more  complex  any  constitution  is,  and  the  greater 
variety  of  parts  there  are  which  thus  tend  to  some  one  end,  the 
stronger  is  the  proof  that  such  end  was  designed.  However, 
when  the  inward  frame  of  man  is  considered  as  any  guide  in 
morals,  the  utmost  caution  must  be  used  that  none  make  pecu- 
liarities in  their  own  temper,  or  any  thing  which  is  the  effect  of 
particular  customs,  though  observable  in  several,  the  standard 
of  what  is  common  to  the  species;  and  above  all,  that  the  highest 
principle  be  not  forgot  or  excluded,  that  to  which  belongs  the 
adjustment  and  correction  of  all  other  inward  movements  and 
affections:  which  principle  will  of  course  have  some  influence, 
but  which  being  in  nature  supreme,  as  shall  now  be  shown,  ought 
to  preside  over  and  govern  all  the  rest.  The  difficulty  of  rightly 
observing  the  two  former  cautions;  the  appearance  there  is  of 
some  small  diversity  amongst  mankind  with  respect  to  this  fac- 
ulty, with  respect  to  their  natural  sense  of  moral  good  and  evil; 
and  the  attention  necessary  to  survey  with  any  exactness  what 
passes  within,  have  occasioned  that  it  is  not  so  much  agreed  what 
is  the  standard  of  the  internal  nature  of  man,  as  of  his  external 
form.  Neither  is  this  last  exactly  settled.  Yet  we  understand  one 
another  when  we  speak  of  the  shape  of  a human  body;  so  like- 
wise we  do  when  we  speak  of  the  heart  and  inward  principles, 
how  far  soever  the  standard  is  from  being  exact  or  precisely  fixed. 
There  is  therefore  ground  for  an  attempt  of  showing  men  to  them- 
selves, of  showing  them  what  course  of  life  and  behaviour  their 


SERMONS 


379 


real  nature  points  out  and  would  lead  them  to.  Now  obligations 
of  virtue  shown,  and  motives  to  the  practice  of  it  enforced,  from 
a review  of  the  nature  of  man,  are  to  be  considered  as  an  appeal 
to  each  particular  person’s  heart  and  natural  conscience;  as  the 
external  senses  are  appealed  to  for  the  proof  of  things  cognizable 
by  them.  Since  then  our  inward  feelings,  and  the  perceptions 
we  receive  from  our  external  senses,  are  equally  real;  to  argue 
from  the  former  to  life  and  conduct  is  as  little  liable  to  exception, 
as  to  argue  from  the  latter  to  absolute  speculative  truth.  A man 
can  as  little  doubt  whether  his  eyes  were  given  him  to  see  with, 
as  he  can  doubt  of  the  truth  of  the  science  of  optics,  deduced  from 
ocular  experiments.  And  allowing  the  inward  feeling,  shame; 
a man  can  as  little  doubt  whether  it  was  given  him  to  prevent 
his  doing  shameful  actions,  as  he  can  doubt  whether  his  eyes 
were  given  him  to  guide  his  steps.  And  as  to  these  inward  feelings 
themselves;  that  they  are  real,  that  man  has  in  his  nature  pas- 
sions and  affections,  can  no  more  be  questioned,  than  that  he  has 
external  senses.  Neither  can  the  former  be  wholly  mistaken; 
though  to  a certain  degree  liable  to  greater  mistakes  than  the 
latter. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  but  that  several  propensions  or  in- 
stincts, several  principles  in  the  heart  of  man,  carry  him  to  so- 
ciety, and  to  contribute  to  the  happiness  of  it,  in  a sense  and  a 
manner  in  which  no  inward  principle  leads  him  to  evil.  These 
principles,  propensions,  or  instincts  which  lead  him  to  do  good, 
are  approved  of  by  a certain  faculty  within,  quite  distinct  from 
these  propensions  themselves.  All  this  hath  been  fully  made  out 
in  the  foregoing  discourse. 

But  it  may  be  said,  “What  is  all  this,  though  true,  to  the  pur- 
pose of  virtue  and  religion  ? these  require,  not  only  that  we  do 
good  to  others  when  we  are  led  this  way,  by  benevolence  or  re- 
flection, happening  to  be  stronger  than  other  principles,  passions, 
or  appetites;  but  likewise  that  the  whole  character  be  formed 
upon  thought  and  reflection;  that  every  action  be  directed  by 
some  determinate  rule,  some  other  rule  than  the  strength  and 
prevalency  of  any  principle  or  passion.  What  sign  is  there  in  our 
nature  (for  the  inquiry  is  only  about  what  is  to  be  collected  from 


38o  JOSEPH  BUTLER 

thence)  that  this  was  intended  by  its  Author?  Or  how  does  so 
various  and  fickle  a temper  as  that  of  man  appear  adapted  thereto  ? 
It  may  indeed  be  absurd  and  unnatural  for  men  to  act  without 
any  reflection ; nay,  without  regard  to  that  particular  kind  of  re- 
flection which  you  call  conscience;  because  this  does  belong  to 
our  nature.  For  as  there  never  was  a man  but  who  approved 
one  place,  prospect,  building,  before  another,  so  it  does  not  ap- 
pear that  there  ever  was  a man  who  would  not  have  approved  an 
action  of  humanity  rather  than  of  cruelty;  interest  and  passion 
being  quite  out  of  the  case.  But  interest  and  passion  do  come  in, 
and  are  often  too  strong  for  and  prevail  over  reflection  and  con- 
science. Now  as  brutes  have  various  instincts,  by  which  they 
are  carried  on  to  the  end  the  Author  of  their  nature  intended 
them  for:  is  not  man  in  the  same  condition;  with  this  difference 
only,  that  to  his  instincts  (i.  e.  appetites  and  passions)  is  added 
the  principle  of  reflection  or  conscience  ? And  as  brutes  act  agree- 
ably to  their  nature,  in  following  that  principle  or  particular  in- 
stinct which  for  the  present  is  strongest  in  them ; does  not  man 
likewise  act  agreeably  to  his  nature,  or  obey  the  law  of  his  crea- 
tion, by  following  that  principle,  be  it  passion  or  conscience, 
which  for  the  present  happens  to  be  strongest  in  him?  Thus 
different  men  are  by  their  particular  nature  hurried  on  to  pursue 
honour  or  riches  or  pleasure : there  are  also  persons  whose  tem- 
per leads  them  in  an  uncommon  degree  to  kindness,  compassion, 
doing  good  to  their  fellow-creatures : as  there  are  others  who  are 
given  to  suspend  their  judgment,  to  weigh  and  consider  things, 
and  to  act  upon  thought  and  reflection.  Let  every  one  then 
quietly  follow  his  nature;  as  passion,  reflection,  appetite,  the 
several  parts  of  it,  happen  to  be  strongest : but  let  not  the  man  of 
virtue  take  upon  him  to  blame  the  ambitious,  the  covetous,  the 
dissolute;  since  these  equally  v.  ith  him  obey  and  follow  their  na- 
ture. Thus,  as  in  some  cases  we  follow  our  nature  in  doing  the 
works  contained  in  the  law,  so  in  other  cases  we  follow  nature  in 
doing  contrary,” 

Now  all  this  licentious  talk  entirely  goes  upon  a supposition, 
that  men  follow  their  nature  in  the  same  sense,  in  violating  the 
known  rules  of  justice  and  honesty  for  the  sake  of  a present  grati- 


SERMONS 


381 

fication,  as  they  do  in  following  those  rules  when  they  have  no 
temptation  to  the  contrary.  And  if  this  were  true,  that  could  not 
be  so  which  St.  Paul  asserts,  that  men  are  by  nature  a law  to 
themselves.  If  by  following  nature  were  meant  only  acting  as  we 
please,  it  would  indeed  be  ridiculous  to  speak  of  nature  as  any 
guide  in  morals : nay  the  very  mention  of  deviating  from  nature 
would  be  absurd;  and  the  mention  of  following  it,  when  spoken 
by  way  of  distinction,  would  absolutely  have  no  meaning.  For 
did  ever  any  one  act  otherwise  than  as  he  pleased  ? And  yet  the 
ancients  speak  of  deviating  from  nature  as  vice ; and  of  following 
nature  so  much  as  a distinction,  that  according  to  them  the  per- 
fection of  virtue  consists  therein.  So  that  language  itself  should 
teach  people  another  sense  to  the  words  following  nature,  than 
barely  acting  as  we  please.  Let  it  however  be  observed,  that 
though  the  words  human  nature  are  to  be  explained,  yet  the  real 
question  of  this  discourse  is  not  concerning  the  mieaning  of  words, 
any  other  than  as  the  explanation  of  them  may  be  needful  to 
make  out  and  explain  the  assertion,  that  every  man  is  naturally 
a law  to  himself,  that  every  one  may  find  within  himself  the  rule 
of  right,  and  obligations  to  follow  it.  This  St.  Paul  afhrmLS  in  the 
words  of  the  text,  and  this  the  foregoing  objection  really  denies 
by  seeming  to  allow  it.  And  the  objection  will  be  fully  answered, 
and  the  text  before  us  explained,  by  observing  that  nature  is  con- 
sidered in  different  views,  and  the  word  used  in  different  senses; 
and  by  showing  in  what  view  it  is  considered,  and  in  what  sense 
the  word  is  used,  when  intended  to  express  and  signify  that  which 
is  the  guide  of  life,  that  by  which  men  are  a law  to  themselves. 
I say,  the  explanation  of  the  term  will  be  sufficient,  because 
from  thence  it  will  appear,  that  in  some  senses  of  the  word  nature 
cannot  be,  but  that  in  another  sense  it  manifestly  is,  a law 
to  us. 

I.  By  nature  is  often  meant  no  more  than  some  principle  in 
man,  without  regard  either  to  the  kind  or  degree  of  it.  Thus  the 
passion  of  anger,  and  the  affection  of  parents  to  their  children, 
would  be  called  equally  natural.  And  as  the  same  person  hath 
often  contrary  principles,  which  at  the  same  time  draw  contrary 
ways,  he  may  by  the  same  action  both  follow  and  contradict  his 


382  JOSEPH  BUTLER 

nature  in  this  sense  of  the  word ; he  may  follow  one  passion  and 
contradict  another. 

II.  Nature  is  frequently  spoken  of  as  consisting  in  those  pas- 
sions which  are  strongest,  and  most  influence  the  actions;  which 
being  vicious  ones,  mankind  is  in  this  sense  naturally  vicious,  or 
vicious  by  nature.  Thus  St.  Paul  says  of  the  Gentiles,  who  were 
dead  in  trespasses  and  sins,  and  walked  according  to  the  spirit  of 
disobedience,  that  they  were  by  nature  the  children  of  wrathP  They 
could  be  no  otherwise  children  of  wrath  by  nature,  than  they  were 
vicious  by  nature. 

Here  then  are  two  different  senses  of  the  word  nature,  in 
neither  of  which  men  can  at  all  be  said  to  be  a law  to  themselves. 
They  are  mentioned  only  to  be  excluded ; to  prevent  their  being 
confounded,  as  the  latter  is  in  the  objection,  with  another  sense 
of  it,  which  is  now  to  be  inquired  after  and  explained. 

III.  The  apostle  asserts,  that  the  Gentiles  do  by  nature  the 
things  contained  in  the  law.  Nature  is  indeed  here  put  by  way 
of  distinction  from  revelation,  but  yet  it  is  not  a mere  negative. 
He  intends  to  express  more  than  that  by  which  they  did  not,  that 
by  which  they  did  the  works  of  the  law ; namely,  by  nature.  It  is 
plain  the  meaning  of  the  word  is  not  the  same  in  this  passage 
as  in  the  former,  where  it  is  spoken  of  as  evil ; for  in  this  latter  it  is 
spoken  of  as  good ; as  that  by  which  they  acted,  or  might  have 
acted  virtuously.  What  that  is  in  man  by  which  he  is  naturally 
a law  to  himself,  is  explained  in  the  following  words:  Which 
show  the  work  of  the  law  written  in  their  hearts,  their  consciences 
also  bearing  witness,  and  their  thoughts  the  mean  while  accusing 
or  else  excusing  one  another.  If  there  be  a distinction  to  be  made 
between  the  works  written  in  their  hearts,  and  the  witness  of  con- 
science ; by  the  former  must  be  meant  the  natural  disposition  to 
kindness  and  compassion,  to  do  what  is  of  good  report,  to  which 
this  apostle  often  refers,  that  part  of  the  nature  of  man,  treated 
of  in  the  foregoing  discourse,  which  with  very  little  reflection 
and  of  course  leads  him  to  society,  and  by  means  of  which  he 
naturally  acts  a just  and  good  part  in  it,  unless  other  passions  or 
interest  lead  him  astray.  Yet  since  other  passions,  and  regards 

* Ephes.  ii.  3. 


SERMONS 


3S3 

to  private  interest,  which  lead  us  (though  indirectly,  yet  they  Ead 
us)  astray,  are  themselves  in  a degree  equally  natural,  and  often 
most  prevalent ; and  since  we  have  no  method  of  seeing  the  par- 
ticular degrees  in  wEich  one  or  the  other  is  placed  in  us  by  nature; 
it  is  plain  the  former,  considered  merely  as  natural,  good  and 
right  as  they  are,  can  no  more  be  a law  to  us  than  the  latter.  But 
there  is  a superior  principle  of  reflection  or  conscience  in  every 
man,  which  distinguishes  between  the  internal  principles  of  his 
heart,  as  well  as  his  external  actions;  which  passes  judgment 
upon  himself  and  them ; pronounces  determinately  some  actions 
to  be  in  themselves  just,  right,  good;  others  to  be  in  themselves 
evil,  wrong,  unjust;  which,  without  being  consulted,  without 
being  advised  with,  magisterially  exerts  itself,  and  approves  or 
condemns  him  the  doer  of  them  accordingly;  and  which,  if  not 
forcibly  stopped,  naturally  and  always  of  course  goes  on  to  an- 
ticipate a higher  and  more  effectual  sentence,  which  shall  here- 
after second  and  aflflrm  its  own.  But  this  part  of  the  office  of 
conscience  is  beyond  my  present  design  explicitly  to  consider.  It 
is  by  this  faculty,  natural  to  man,  that  he  is  a moral  agent,  that  he 
is  a law  to  himself ; but  this  faculty,  I say,  is  not  to  be  considered 
merely  as  a principle  in  his  heart,  which  is  to  have  some  influence 
as  well  as  others ; but  considered  as  a faculty  in  kind  and  in  na- 
ture supreme  over  all  others,  and  which  bears  its  own  authority 
of  being  so. 

This  prerogative,  this  natural  supremacy,  of  the  faculty  which 
surveys,  approves  or  disapproves  the  several  affections  of  our 
mind  and  actions  of  our  lives,  being  that  by  which  men  are  a law 
to  themselves,  their  conformity  or  disobedience  to  which  law  of 
our  nature  renders  their  actions,  in  the  highest  and  most  proper 
sense,  natural  or  unnatural;  it  is  fit  it  be  further  explained  to 
you : and  I hope  it  will  be  so,  if  you  will  attend  to  the  following 
reflections. 

Man  may  act  according  to  that  principle  or  inclination  which 
for  the  present  happens  to  be  strongest,  and  yet  act  in  a way  dis 
proportionate  to,  and  violate  his  real  proper  nature.  Suppose  a 
brute  creature  by  any  bait  to  be  allured  into  a snare,  by  which  he 
is  destroyed.  He  plainly  followed  the  bent  of  his  nature,  leading 


384  JOSEPH  BUTLER 

him  to  gratify  his  appetite;  there  is  an  entire  correspondence 
between  his  whole  nature  and  such  an  action : such  action  there- 
fore is  natural.  But  suppose  a man,  foreseeing  the  same  danger 
of  certain  ruin,  should  rush  into  it  for  the  sake  of  a present  grati- 
fication; he  in  this  instance  would  follow  his  strongest  desire,  as 
did  the  brute  creature : but  there  would  be  as  manifest  a dispro- 
portion, between  the  nature  of  a man  and  such  an  action,  as 
between  the  meanest  work  of  art  and  the  skill  of  the  greatest 
master  in  that  art ; which  disproportion  arises,  not  from  consid- 
ering the  action  singly  in  itself,  or  in  its  consequences ; but  from 
comparison  of  it  with  the  nature  of  the  agent.  And  since  such  an 
action  is  utterly  disproportionate  to  the  nature  of  man,  it  is  in  the 
strictest  and  most  proper  sense  unnatural ; this  word  expressing 
that  disproportion.  Therefore  instead  of  the  words  dispropor- 
tionate to  his  nature,  the  word  unnatural  may  now  be  put;  this 
being  more  familiar  to  us : but  let  it  be  observed,  that  it  stands  for 
the  same  thing  precisely. 

Now  what  is  it  which  renders  such  a rash  action  unnatural  ? 
Is  it  that  he  went  against  the  principle  of  reasonable  and  cool 
self-love,  considered  merely  as  a part  of  his  nature?  No : for  if  he 
had  acted  the  contrary  way,  he  would  equally  have  gone  against  a 
principle,  or  part  of  his  nature,  namely,  passion  or  appetite.  But 
to  deny  a present  appetite,  from  foresight  that  the  gratification 
of  it  would  end  in  immediate  ruin  or  extreme  misery,  is  by  no 
means  an  unnatural  action  ; whereas  to  contradict  or  go  against 
cool  self-love  for  the  sake  of  such  gratification,  is  so  in  the  instance 
before  us.  Such  an  action  then  being  unnatural ; and  its  being  so 
not  arising  from  a man’s  going  against  a principle  or  desire  barely, 
nor  in  going  against  that  principle  or  desire  which  happens  for 
the  present  to  be  strongest;  it  necessarily  follows,  that  there  must 
be  some  other  difference  or  distinction  to  be  made  between  these 
two  principles,  passion  and  cool  self-love,  than  what  I have  yet 
taken  notice  of.  And  this  difference,  not  being  a difference  in 
strength  or  degree,  I call  a difference  in  nature  and  in  kind.  And 
since,  in  the  instance  still  before  us,  if  passion  prevails  over  self- 
love,  the  consequent  action  is  unnatural ; but  if  self-love  prevails 
over  passion,  the  action  is  natural : it  is  manifest  that  self-love  is 


SERMONS 


385 

in  human  nature  a superior  principle  to  passion.  This  may  be 
contradicted  without  violating  that  nature;  but  the  former  can- 
not. So  that,  if  we  will  act  conformably  to  the  economy  of  man’s 
nature,  reasonable  self-love  must  govern.  Thus,  without  particu- 
lar consideration  of  conscience,  we  may  have  a clear  conception 
of  the  superior  nature  of  one  inward  principle  to  ano.her;  and 
see  that  there  really  is  this  natural  superiority,  quite  distinct  from 
degrees  of  strength  and  prevalency. 

Let  us  now  take  a view  of  the  nature  of  man,  as  consisting 
partly  of  various  appetites,  passions,  affections,  and  partly  of 
the  principle  of  reflection  or  conscience;  leaving  quite  out  all 
consideration  of  the  different  degrees  of  strength,  in  which  either 
of  them  prevail,  and  it  will  further  appear  that  there  is  this  nat- 
ural superiority  of  one  inward  principle  to  another,  and  that  it  is 
even  part  of  the  idea  of  reflection  or  conscience. 

Passion  or  appetite  implies  a direct  simpL  tendency  towards 
such  and  such  objects,  without  distinction  of  the  means  by  which 
they  are  to  be  obtained.  Consequently  it  will  often  happen  there 
will  be  a desire  of  particular  objects,  in  cases  where  they  cannot 
be  obtained  without  manifest  injury  to  ethers.  Reflection  or 
conscience  comes  in,  and  disapprov  es  the  pursuit  of  them  in  these 
circumstances;  but  the  desire  remains.  Which  is  to  be  obeyed, 
appetite  or  reflection?  Cannot  this  question  be  answered,  from 
the  economy  and  constitution  of  human  nature  merely,  without 
saying  which  is  strongest  ? Or  need  this  at  all  come  into  con- 
sideration? Would  not  the  question  be  intelligibly  and  fully 
answered  by  saying,  that  the  principle  of  reflection  or  conscience 
being  compared  with  the  various  appetites,  passions,  and  affec- 
tions in  men,  the  former  is  manifestly  superior  and  chief,  without 
regard  to  strength?  And  how  often  soever  the  latter  happens 
to  prevail,  it  is  mere  usurpation  : the  former  remains  in  nature 
and  in  kind  its  superior;  and  every  instance  of  such  prevalence 
of  the  latter  is  an  instance  of  breaking  in  upon  and  violation  of 
the  constitution  of  man. 

All  this  is  no  more  than  the  distinction,  which  everybody  is 
acquainted  with,  between  mere  power  and  authority  : only  instead 
of  being  intended  to  express  the  difference  between  what  is  pos- 


386  JOSEPH  BUTLER 

sible,  and  what  is  lawful  in  civil  government;  here  it  has  been 
shown  applicable  to  the  several  principles  in  the  mind  of  man. 
Thus  that  principle,  by  which  we  survey,  and  either  approve  or 
disapprove  our  own  heart,  temper,  and  actions,  is  not  only  to  be 
considered  as  what  is  in  its  turn  to  have  some  influence;  which 
may  be  said  of  every  passion,  of  the  lowest  appetites;  but  likewise 
as  being  superior;  as  from  its  very  nature  manifestly  claiming 
superiority  over  all  others:  insomuch  that  you  cannot  form  a 
notion  of  this  faculty,  conscience,  without  taking  in  judgment, 
direction,  superintendency.  This  is  a constituent  part  of  the  idea, 
that  is,  of  the  faculty  itself : and,  to  preside  and  govern,  from  the 
very  economy  and  constitution  of  man,  belongs  to  it.  Had  it 
strength,  as  it  had  right;  had  it  power,  as  it  had  manifest  author- 
ity, it  would  absolutely  govern  the  world. 

This  gives  us  a further  view  of  the  nature  of  man;  shows  us 
what  course  of  life  we  were  made  for : not  only  that  our  real  na- 
ture leads  us  to  be  influenced  in  some  degree  by  reflection  and 
conscience;  but  likewise  in  what  degree  we  are  to  be  influenced 
by  it,  if  we  will  fall  in  with,  and  act  agreeably  to  the  constitution 
of  our  nature:  that  this  faculty  was  placed  within  to  be  our 
proper  governor ; to  direct  and  regulate  all  under  principles,  pas- 
sions, and  motives  of  action.  This  is  its  right  and  office:  thus 
sacred  is  its  authority.  And  how  often  soever  men  violate  and 
rebelliously  refuse  to  submit  to  it,  for  supposed  interest  which 
they  cannot  otherwise  obtain,  or  for  the  sake  of  passion  which 
they  cannot  otherwise  gratify;  this  makes  no  alteration  as  to  the 
natural  right  ?nd  office  of  conscience. 

Let  us  now  turn  this  whole  matter  another  way,  and  suppose 
there  was  no  such  thing  at  all  as  this  natural  supremacy  of  con- 
science; that  there  was  no  distinction  to  be  made  between  one 
inward  principle  and  another,  but  only  that  of  strength  ; and  see 
what  would  be  the  consequence. 

Consider  then  what  is  the  latitude  and  compass  of  the  actions 
of  man  with  regard  to  himself,  his  fellow-creatures,  and  the 
Supreme  Being?  What  are  their  bounds,  besides  that  of  our 
natural  power?  With  respect  to  the  two  first,  they  are  plainly 
no  other  than  these:  no  man  seeks  misery  as  such  for  himself' 


SERMONS 


387 

and  no  one  unprovoked  does  mischief  to  another  for  its  own  sake. 
For  in  every  degree  within  these  bounds,  mankind  knowingly 
from  passion  or  wantonness  bring  ruin  and  misery  upon  them- 
selves and  others.  And  impiety  and  profaneness,  I mean,  what 
every  one  would  call  so  who  believes  the  being  of  God,  have  ab- 
solutely no  bounds  at  all.  Men  blaspheme  the  Author  of  nature, 
formally  and  in  words  renounce  their  allegiance  to  their  Creator. 
Put  an  instance  then  with  respect  to  any  one  of  these  three. 
Though  we  should  suppose  profane  swearing,  and  in  general  that 
kind  of  impiety  now  mentioned,  to  mean  nothing,  yet  it  implies 
wanton  disregard  and  irreverence  towards  an  infinite  Being,  our 
Creator ; and  is  this  as  suitable  to  the  nature  of  man,  as  reverence 
and  dutiful  submission  of  heart  towards  that  Almighty  Being? 
Or  suppose  a man  guilty  of  parricide,  with  all  the  circumstances 
of  cruelty  which  such  an  action  can  admit  of.  This  action  is  done 
in  consequence  of  its  principle  being  for  the  present  strongest; 
and  if  there  be  no  difference  between  inward  principles,  but  only 
that  of  strength;  the  strength  being  given,  you  have  the  whole 
nature  of  the  man  given,  so  far  as  it  relates  to  this  matter.  The 
action  plainly  corresponds  to  the  principle,  the  principle  being  in 
that  degree  of  strength  it  was;  it  therefore  corresponds  to  the 
whole  nature  of  the  man.  Upon  comparing  the  action  and  the 
whole  nature,  there  arises  no  disproportion,  there  appears  no 
unsuitableness  between  them.  Thus  the  murder  of  a father  and 
the  nature  of  man  correspond  to  each  other,  as  the  same  nature 
and  an  act  of  filial  duty.  If  there  be  no  difference  between  inward 
principles,  but  only  that  of  strength ; we  can  make  no  distinction 
between  these  two  actions  considered  as  the  actions  of  such  a 
creature;  but  in  our  coolest  hours  must  approve  or  disapprove 
them  equally : than  which  nothing  can  be  reduced  to  a greater 
absurdity. 

SERMON  III 

The  natural  supremacy  of  reflection  or  conscience  being  thus 
established;  we  may  fro’m  it  form  a distinct  notion  of  what  is 
meant  by  human  nature,  when  virtue  is  said  to  consist  in  follow- 
ing it,  and  vice  in  deviating  from  it. 


388  JOSEPH  BUTLER 

As  the  idea  of  a civil  constitution  implies  in  it  united  strength, 
various  subordinations,  under  one  direction,  that  of  the  supreme 
authority;  the  different  strength  of  each  particular  member  of 
the  society  not  coming  into  the  idea;  whereas,  if  you  leave  out  the 
subordination,  the  union,  and  the  one  direction,  you  destroy 
and  lose  it : so  reason,  several  appetites,  passions,  and  affections, 
prevailing  in  different  degrees  of  strength,  is  not  that  idea  or 
notion  of  human  nature,  but  that  nature  consists  in  these  several 
principles  considered  as  having  a natural  respect  to  each  other, 
in  the  several  passions  being  naturally  subordinate  to  the  one 
superior  principle  of  reflection  or  conscience.  Every  bias,  instinct, 
propension  within,  is  a natural  part  of  our  nature,  but  not  the 
whole : add  to  these  the  superior  faculty,  whose  office  it  is  to  ad- 
just, manage,  and  preside  over  them,  and  take  in  this  its  natural 
superiority,  and  you  complete  the  idea  of  human  nature.  And 
as  in  civil  government  the  constitution  is  broken  in  upon  and 
violated  by  power  and  strength  prevailing  over  authority;  so  the 
constitution  of  man  is  broken  in  upon  and  violated  by  the  lower 
faculties  or  principles  within  prevailing  over  that  which  is  in  its 
nature  supreme  over  them  all.  Thus,  when  it  is  said  by  ancient 
writers,  that  tortures  and  death  are  not  so  contrary  to  human 
nature  as  injustice;  by  this  to  be  sure  is  not  meant,  that  the  aver- 
sion to  the  former  in  mankind  is  less  strong  and  prevalent  than 
their  aversion  to  the  latter  ; but  that  the  former  is  only  contrary 
to  our  nature  considered  in  a partial  view,  and  which  takes  in  only 
the  lowest  part  of  it,  that  which  we  have  in  common  with  the 
brutes;  whereas  the  latter  is  contrary  to  our  nature,  considered 
in  a higher  sense,  as  a system  and  constitution  contrary  to  the 
whole  economy  of  man. 

And  from  all  these  things  put  together,  nothing  can  be  more 
evident,  than  that,  exclusive  of  revelation,  man  cannot  be  con- 
sidered as  a creature  left  by  his  Maker  to  act  at  random,  and  live 
at  large  up  to  the  extent  of  his  natural  power,  as  passion,  humour, 
wilfulness,  happen  to  carry  him;  which  is  the  condition  brute 
creatures  are  in:  but  that /row  his  make,  constitution,  or  nature, 
he  is  in  the  strictest  and  most  proper  sense  a law  to  himself.  He 
hath  the  rule  of  right  wflthin:  what  is  wanting  is  only  that  he 
honestly  attends  to  it. 


SERMONS 


389 

The  inquiries  which  have  been  made  by  men  of  leisure  after 
some  general  rule,  the  conformity  to,  or  disagreement  from  which, 
should  denominate  our  actions  good  or  evil,  are  in  many  respects 
of  great  service.  Yet  let  any  plain  honest  man,  before  he  engages 
in  any  course  of  action,  ask  himself.  Is  this  I am  going  about 
right,  or  is  it  wrong  ? Is  it  good,  or  is  it  evil  ? I do  not  in  the  least 
doubt,  but  that  this  question  would  be  answered  agreeably  to 
truth  and  virtue,  by  almost  any  fair  man  in  almost  any  circum- 
stance. Neither  do  there  appear  any  cases  which  look  like  ex- 
ceptions to  this ; but  those  of  superstition,  and  of  partiality  to  our- 
selves. Superstition  may  perhaps  be  somewhat  of  an  exception : 
but  partiality  to  ourselves  is  not;  this  being  itself  dishonesty.  For 
a man  to  judge  that  to  be  the  equitable,  the  moderate,  the  right 
part  for  him  to  act,  which  he  would  see  to  be  hard,  unjust,  op- 
pressive in  another;  this  is  plain  vice,  and  can  proceed  only  from 
great  unfairness  of  mind. 

But  allowing  that  mankind  hath  the  rule  of  right  within  him- 
self, yet  it  may  be  asked,  “What  obligations  are  we  under  to  at- 
tend to  and  follow  it?  ” I answer:  it  has  been  proved  that  man 
by  his  nature  is  a law  to  himself,  without  the  particular  distinct 
consideration  of  the  positive  sanctions  of  that  law;  the  rewards 
and  punishments  which  we  feel,  and  those  which  from  the  light 
of  reason  we  have  ground  to  believe,  are  annexed  to  it.  The 
question  then  carries  its  own  answer  along  with  it.  Your  obliga- 
tion to  obey  this  law,  is  its  being  the  law  of  your  nature.  That  your 
conscience  approves  of  and  attests  to  such  a course  of  action,  is 
itself  alone  an  obligation.  Conscience  does  not  only  offer  itself  to 
show  us  the  way  we  should  walk  in,  but  it  likewise  carries  its  own 
authority  with  it,  that  it  is  our  natural  guide;  the  guide  assigned 
us  by  the  Author  of  our  nature : it  therefore  belongs  to  our  condi- 
tion of  being,  it  is  our  duty  to  walk  in  that  path,  and  follow  this 
guide,  without  looking  about  to  see  whether  we  may  not  possibly 
forsake  them  with  impunity. 

However,  let  us  hear  what  is  to  be  said  against  obeying  this 
law  of  our  nature.  And  the  sum  is  no  more  than  this:  “Why 
should  we  be  concerned  about  anything  out  of  and  beyond  our- 
selves? If  we  do  find  within  ourselves  regards  to  others,  and 


390  JOSEPH  BUTLER 

restraints  of  we  know  not  how  many  different  kinds ; yet  these 
being  embarrassments,  and  hindering  us  from  going  the  nearest 
way  to  our  own  good,  why  should  we  not  endeavour  to  suppress 
and  get  over  thern?” 

Thus  people  go  on  with  words,  which,  when  applied  to  human 
nature,  and  the  condition  in  which  it  is  placed  in  this  world,  have 
really  no  meaning.  For  does  not  all  this  kind  of  talk  go  upon  the 
supposition,  that  our  happiness  in  this  world  consists  in  some- 
what quite  distinct  from  regard  to  others;  and  that  it  is  the 
privilege  of  vice  to  be  without  restraint  or  confinement  ? Whereas, 
on  the  contrary,  the  enjoyments,  in  a manner  all  the  common 
enjoyments  of  life,  even  the  pleasures  of  vice,  depend  upon  these 
regards  of  one  kind  or  another  to  our  fellow-creatures.  Throw 
off  all  regards  to  others,  and  we  should  be  quite  indifferent  to 
infamy  and  to  honour;  there  could  be  no  such  thing  at  all  as 
ambition;  and  scarce  any  such  thing  as  covetousness;  for  we 
should  likewise  be  equally  indifferent  to  the  disgrace  of  poverty, 
the  several  neglects  and  kinds  of  contempt  which  accompany  this 
state ; and  to  the  reputation  of  riches,  the  regard  and  respect  they 
usually  procure.  Neither  is  restraint  by  any  means  peculiar  to 
one  course  of  life;  but  our  very  nature,  exclusive  of  conscience 
and  our  condition,  lays  us  under  an  absolute  necessity  of  it.  We 
cannot  gain  any  end  whatever  without  being  confined  to  the 
proper  means,  which  is  often  the  most  painful  and  uneasy  con- 
finement. And  in  numberless  instances  a present  appetite  cannot 
be  gratified  without  such  apparent  and  immediate  ruin  and 
misery,  that  the  most  dissolute  man  in  the  world  chooses  to  forego 
the  pleasure,  rather  than  endure  the  pain. 

Is  the  meaning  then,  to  indulge  those  regards  to  our  fellow- 
creatures,  and  submit  to  thos^  restraints,  which  upon  the  whole 
are  attended  with  more  satisfaction  than  uneasiness,  and  get  over 
only  those  which  bring  more  uneasiness  and  inconvenience  than 
satisfaction?  “Doubtless  this  was  our  meaning.”  You  have 
changed  sides  then.  Keep  to  this ; be  consistent  wdth  yourselves ; 
and  you  and  the  men  of  virtue  are  in  general  perfectly  agreed. 
But  let  us  take  care  and  avoid  mistakes.  Let  it  not  be  taken  for 
granted  that  the  temper  of  envy,  rage,  resentment,  yields  greater 


SERMONS 


391 


delight  than  meekness,  forgiveness,  compassion,  and  good-will; 
especially  when  it  is  acknowledged  that  rage,  envy,  resentment, 
are  in  themselves  mere  misery ; and  the  satisfaction  arising  from 
the  indulgence  of  them  is  little  more  than  relief  from  that  misery ; 
whereas  the  temper  of  compassion  and  benevolence  is  itself  de- 
lightful; and  the  indulgence  of  it,  by  doing  good,  affords  new 
positive  delight  and  enjoyment.  Let  it  not  be  taken  for  granted, 
that  the  satisfaction  arising  from  the  reputation  of  riches  and 
power,  however  obtained,  and  from  the  respect  paid  to  them,  is 
greater  than  the  satisfaction  arising  from  the  reputation  of  justice, 
honesty,  charity,  and  the  esteem  which  is  universally  acknow- 
ledged to  be  their  due.  And  if  it  be  doubtful  which  of  these  satis- 
factions is  the  greatest,  as  there  are  persons  who  think  neither 
of  them  very  considerable,  yet  there  can  be  no  doubt  concerning 
ambition  and  covetousness,  virtue  and  a good  mind,  considered 
in  themselves,  and  as  leading  to  different  courses  of  life ; there  can, 
I say,  be  no  doubt,  which  temper  and  which  course  is  attended 
with  most  peace  and  tranquillity  of  mind,  which  with  most  per- 
plexity, vexation,  and  inconven'ence.  And  both  the  virtues  and 
vices  which  have  been  now  mentioned,  do  in  a manner  equally 
imply  in  them  regards  of  one  kind  or  another  to  our  fellow- 
creatures.  And  with  respect  to  restraint  and  confinement : who- 
ever will  consider  the  restraints  from  fear  and  shame,  the  dis- 
simulation, mean  arts  of  concealment,  servile  compliances,  one 
or  other  of  which  belong  to  almost  every  course  of  vice,  wfill  soon 
be  convinced  that  the  man  of  virtue  is  by  no  means  upon  a dis- 
advantage in  this  respect.  How  many  instances  are  there  in 
which  men  feel  and  own  and  cry  aloud  under  the  chains  of  vice 
with  which  they  are  enthralled,  and  which  yet  they  will  not  shake 
off ! How  many  instances,  in  which  persons  manifestly  go  through 
more  pains  and  self-denial  to  gratify  a vicious  passion,  than  would 
have  been  necessary  to  the  conquest  of  it ! To  this  is  to  be  added, 
that  when  virtue  is  become  habitual,  when  the  temper  of  it  is 
acquired,  what  w^as  before  confinement  ceases  to  be  so,  by  be- 
coming choice  and  delight.  Whatever  restraint  and  guard  upon 
ourselves  may  be  needful  to  unlearn  any  unnatural  distortion  or 
odd  gesture;  yet,  in  all  propriety  of  speech,  natural  behaviour 


392  JOSEPH  BUTLER 

must  be  the  most  easy  and  unrestrained.  It  is  manifest  that,  in 
the  common  course  of  life,  there  is  seldom  any  inconsistency 
between  our  duty  and  what  is  called  interest ; it  is  much  seldomer 
that  there  is  an  inconsistency  between  duty  and  what  is  really  our 
present  interest;  meaning  by  interest,  happiness  and  satisfaction. 
Self-love  then,  though  confined  to  the  interest  of  the  present 
world,  does  in  general  perfectly  coincide  with  virtue;  and  leads 
us  to  one  and  the  same  course  of  life.  But,  whatever  exceptions 
there  are  to  this,  which  are  much  fewer  than  they  are  commonly 
thought,  all  shall  be  set  right  at  the  final  distributions  of  things. 
It  is  a manifest  absurdity  to  suppose  evil  prevailing  finally  over 
good,  under  the  conduct  and  administration  of  a perfect  mind. 

The  whole  argument,  which  I have  been  now  insisting  upon, 
may  be  thus  summed  up,  and  given  you  in  one  view.  The  nature 
of  man  is  adapted  to  some  course  of  action  or  other.  Upon  com- 
paring some  actions  with  this  nature,  they  appear  suitable  and 
correspondent  to  it ; from  comparison  of  other  actions  with  the 
same  nature,  there  arises  to  our  view  some  unsuitableness  or  dis- 
proportion. The  correspondence  of  actions  to  the  nature  of  the 
agent  renders  them  natural : their  disproportion  to  it,  unnatural. 
That  an  action  is  correspondent  to  the  nature  of  the  agent,  does 
not  arise  from  its  being  agreeable  to  the  principle  which  happens 
to  be  the  strongest;  for  it  may  be  so,  and  yet  be  quite  dispro- 
portionate to  the  nature  of  the  agent.  The  correspondence  there- 
fore, or  disproportion,  arises  from  somewhat  else.  This  can  be 
nothing  but  a difference  in  nature  and  kind,  altogether  distinct 
from  strength,  between  the  inward  principles.  Some  then  are  in 
nature  and  kind  superior  to  others.  And  the  correspondence 
arises  from  the  action  being  conformable  to  the  higher  principle; 
and  the  unsuitableness  from  its  being  contrary  to  it.  Reasonable 
self-love  and  conscience  are  the  chief  or  superior  principles  in  the 
nature  of  man,  because  an  action  may  be  suitable  to  this  nature, 
though  all  other  principles  be  violated;  but  becomes  unsuitable, 
if  either  of  those  are.  Conscience  and  self-love,  if  we  understand 
our  true  happiness,  always  lead  us  the  same  way.  Duty  and  in- 
terest are  perfectly  coincident;  for  the  most  part  in  this  world, 
but  entirely  and  in  every  instance  if  we  take  in  the  future,  and  the 


SERMONS 


393 


whole;  this  being  implied  in  the  notion  of  a good  and  perfect  ad- 
ministration of  things.  Thus  they  who  have  been  so  wise  in  their 
generation  as  co  regard  only  their  own  supposed  interest,  at  the 
expense  and  to  the  injury  of  others,  shall  at  last  find,  that  he  who 
has  given  up  all  the  advantages  of  the  present  world,  rather  than 
violate  his  conscience  and  the  relations  of  life,  has  infinitely  better 
provided  for  himself,  and  secured  his  own  interest  and  happiness. 


FRANCIS  HUTCHESON 

(1694-1747) 


AN  INQUIRY  CONCERNING  MORAL 
GOOD  AND  EVIL* 

SECTION  !.  OF  THE  MORAL  SENSE  BT  WHICh 
WE  PERCEIVE  VIRTUE  AND  VICE 

I.  That  the  perceptions  of  moral  good  and  evil,  are  perfect!}; 
different  from  those  of  natural  good,  or  advantage,  every  one  must 
convince  himself  by  reflecting  upon  the  different  manner  in 
which  he  finds  himself  affected  when  these  objects  occur  to  him. 
Had  we  no  sense  of  good  distinct  from  the  advantage  or  interest 
arising  from  the  external  senses,  and  the  perceptions  of  beauty 
and  harmony;  our  admiration  and  love  toward  a fruitful  field 
or  commodious  habitation,  would  be  much  the  same  with  what 
we  have  toward  a generous  friend  or  any  noble  character;  for 
both  are  or  may  be  advantageous  to  us ; and  we  should  no  more 
admire  any  action,  or  love  any  person  in  a distant  country  or 
age,  whose  influence  could  not  extend  to  us,  than  we  love  the 
mountains  of  Peru,  while  we  are  unconcerned  in  the  Spanish 
trade.  We  should  have  the  same  sentiments  and  affections  to- 
ward inanimate  beings,  which  we  have  toward  rational  agents; 
which  yet  every  one  knows  to  be  false.  Upon  comparison  we  say, 
“Why  should  we  admire  or  love  with  esteem  inanimate  beings? 
They  have  no  intention  of  good  to  us;  their  nature  makes  them 
fit  for  our  uses,  which  they  neither  know  nor  study  to  serve.  But 
it  is  not  so  with  rational  agents : they  study  our  interest,  and  de- 
light in  our  happiness,  and  are  benevolent  tow'ard  us.” 

We  are  all  then  conscious  of  the  difference  between  that  love 
and  esteem,  or  perception  of  moral  excellence,  which  benevolence 

* From  F.  Hutcheson’s  An  Inquiry  into  the  Original  of  Our  Ideas  of  Beauty 
and  Virtue.  I?t  Two  Treatises : I.  Concerning  Beauty  or  Order  and  Design  ; 

II.  Concerning  Moral  Good  and  Evil,  ist  ed.,  London,  1725;  2d  ed,,  ib.,  1726; 
3d  ed.,  ib.,  1729;  4th  corr.  ed.,  1738. 


CONCERNING  GOOD  AND  EVIL  395 

excites  toward  the  person  in  whom  we  observe  it,  and  that  opin- 
ion of  natural  goodness,  which  only  raises  desire  of  possession 
toward  the  good  object.  Now,  “ What  should  make  this  difference, 
if  all  approbation,  or  sense  of  good  be  from  prospect  of  advan- 
tage? Do  not  inanimate  objects  promote  our  advantage,  as  well 
as  benevolent  persons  who  do  us  offices  of  kindness  and  friend- 
ship ? Should  we  not  then  have  the  same  endearing  sentiments 
of  both?  or  only  the  same  cold  opinion  of  advantage  in  both?” 
The  reason  why  it  is  not  so  must  be  this,  “ that  we  have  a distinct 
perception  of  beauty  or  excellence  in  the  kind  affections  of  ra- 
tional agents,  whence  we  are  determined  to  admire  and  love  such 
characters  and  persons.” 

Suppose  we  reap  the  same  advantage  from  two  men,  one  of 
whom  serves  us  from  delight  in  our  happiness,  and  love  toward 
us ; the  other  from  views  of  self-interest,  or  by  constraint : both 
are  in  this  case  equally  beneficial  or  advantageous  to  us,  and 
yet  we  shall  have  quite  different  sentiments  of  them.  We  must 
then  certainly  have  other  perceptions  of  moral  actions  than 
those  of  advantage;  and  that  power  of  receiving  these  percep- 
tions may  be  called  a moral  sense,  since  the  definition  agrees  to 
it,  viz. : a determination  of  the  mind  to  receive  any  idea  from  the 
presence  of  an  object  which  occurs  to  us,  independent  on  our 
will. 

This  perhaps  will  be  equally  evident  from  our  ideas  of  evil 
done  to  us  designedly  by  a rational  agent.  Our  senses  of  natural 
good  and  evil  would  make  us  receive  with  equal  serenity  and 
composure,  an  assault,  a buffet,  an  affront  from  a neighbour,  a 
cheat  from  a partner,  or  trustee,  as  we  would  an  equal  damage 
from  the  fall  of  a beam,  a tile,  or  a tempest ; and  we  should  have 
the  same  affections  and  sentiments  of  both.  Villany,  treachery, 
cruelty,  would  be  as  meekly  resented  as  a blast,  or  mildew,  or  an 
overflowing  stream.  But  I fancy  every  one  is  very  differently 
affected  on  these  occasions,  though  there  may  be  equal  natural 
evil  in  both.  Nay,  actions  no  way  detrimental  may  occasion  the 
strongest  anger  and  indignation,  if  they  evidence  only  impotent 
hatred  or  contempt.  And  on  the  other  hand,  the  intervention 
of  moral  ideas  may  prevent  our  hatred  of  the  agent,  or  bad  moral 


FRANCIS  HUTCHESON 


^96 

apprehension  of  that  action,  which  causes  to  us  the  greatest  nat- 
ural evil.  Thus  the  opinion  of  justice  in  any  sentence,  will  pre- 
vent all  ideas  of  moral  evil  in  the  execution  or  hatred  toward 
the  magistrate,  who  is  the  immediate  cause  of  our  greatest  suf- 
ferings. 

II.  In  our  sentiments  of  actions  which  affect  ourselves,  there 
is  indeed  a mixture  of  the  ideas  of  natural  and  moral  good, 
which  require  some  attention  to  separate  them.  But  when  we 
reflect  upon  the  actions  which  affect  other  persons  only,  we  may 
observe  the  moral  ideas  unmixed  with  those  of  natural  good  or 
evil.  For  let  it  be  here  observed,  that  those  senses  by  which  we 
perceive  pleasure  in  natural  objects,  whence  they  are  constituted 
advantageous,  could  never  raise  in  us  any  desire  of  public  good, 
but  only  of  what  was  good  to  ourselves  in  particular.  Nor  could 
they  ever  make  us  approve  an  action  because  of  its  promoting 
the  happiness  of  others.  And  yet  as  soon  as  any  action  is  repre- 
sented to  us  as  flowing  from  love,  humanity,  gratitude,  compas- 
sion, a study  of  the  good  of  others,  and  a delight  in  their  happi- 
ness, although  it  were  in  the  most  distant  part  of  the  world  or  in 
some  past  age,  we  feel  joy  within  us,  admire  the  lovely  action, 
and  praise  its  author.  And  on  the  contrary,  every  action  repre- 
sented as  flowing  from  hatred,  delight  in  the  misery  of  others, 
or  ingratitude,  raises  abhorrence  and  aversion. 

It  is  true  indeed  that  the  actions  we  approve  in  others,  are 
generally  imagined  to  tend  to  the  natural  good  of  mankind,  or 
of  some  parts  of  it.  But  whence  this  secret  chain  between  each  per- 
son and  mankind  ? How  is  my  interest  connected  with  the  most 
distant  parts  of  it?  And  yet  I must  admire  actions  which  are 
beneficial  to  them,  and  love  the  author.  Whence  this  love,  com- 
passion, indignation,  and  hatred  toward  even  feigned  characters, 
in  the  most  distant  ages  and  nations,  according  as  they  appear 
kind,  faithful,  compassionate,  or  of  the  opposite  dispositions, 
tow'ard  their  imaginary  contemporaries?  If  there  is  no  moral 
sense,  which  makes  rational  actions  appear  beautiful  or  de- 
formed ; if  all  approbation  be  from  the  interest  of  the  approver, 
"'What ’s  Hecuba  to  us  or  we  to  Hecuba?”  {Hamlet.) 


CONCERNING  GOOD  AND  EVIL  397 

V.  This  moral  sense,  either  of  our  own  actions  or  of  those 
of  others,  has  this  in  common  with  our  other  senses,  that  how- 
ever our  desire  of  virtue  may  be  counterbalanced  by  interest, 
our  sentiment  or  perception  of  its  beauty  cannot,  as  it  certainly 
might  be,  if  the  only  ground  of  our  approbation  w’ere  views  of 
advantage.  Let  us  consider  this  both  as  to  our  own  actions  and 
those  of  others. 

A covetous  man  shall  dislike  any  branch  of  trade,  how  useful 
soever  it  may  be  to  the  public,  if  there  is  no  gain  for  himself  in 
it;  here  is  an  aversion  from  interest.  Propose  a sufficient  pre- 
mium, and  he  shall  be  the  first  who  sets  about  it,  with  full  satis- 
faction in  his  own  conduct.  Now  is  it  the  same  way  with  our  sense 
of  moral  actions  ? Should  any  one  advise  us  to  wrong  a minor, 
or  orphan,  or  to  do  an  ungrateful  action  toward  a benefactor; 
we  at  first  view  abhor  it:  assure  us  that  it  will  be  very  advanta- 
geous to  us,  propose  even  a reward ; our  sense  of  the  action  is  not 
altered.  It  is  true  these  motives  may  make  us  undertake  it,  but 
they  have  no  more  influence  upon  us  to  make  us  approve  it,  than 
a physician’s  advice  has  to  make  a nauseous  potion  pleasant  to 
the  taste,  when  we  perhaps  force  ourselves  to  take  it  for  the  re- 
covery of  health. 

Had  we  no  notion  of  actions  beside  our  opinion  of  their  advan- 
tage, or  disadvantage,  could  we  ever  choose  an  action  as  advan- 
tageous, which  we  are  conscious  is  still  evil  ? as  it  too  often  hap- 
pens in  human  affairs.  Where  would  be  the  need  of  such  high 
bribes  to  prevail  with  men  to  abandon  the  interests  of  a ruined 
party,  or  of  tortures  to  force  out  the  secrets  of  their  friends  ? Is 
it  so  hard  to  convince  men’s  understandings,  if  that  be  the  only 
faculty  we  have  to  do  with,  that  it  is  probably  more  advantageous 
to  secure  present  gain,  and  avoid  present  evils,  by  joining  with 
the  prevalent  party,  than  to  wait  for  the  remote  possibility  of 
future  good,  upon  a revolution  often  improbable,  and  sometimes 
unexpected?  And  when  men  are  overpersuaded  by  advantage, 
do  they  always  prove  their  own  conduct  ? Nay,  how  often  is  their 
remaining  life  odious  and  shameful,  in  their  own  sense  of  it,  as 
well  as  in  that  of  others  to  whom  the  base  action  was  profitable  ? 


FRANCIS  HUTCHESON 


398 

If  any  one  becomes  satisfied  with  his  own  conduct  in  such  a 
case,  upon  what  ground  is  it  ? How  does  he  please  himself,  or  vin- 
dicate his  actions  to  others?  Never  by  reflecting  upon  his  pri- 
vate advantage,  or  alleging  this  to  others  as  a vindication;  but 
by  gradually  warping  into  the  moral  principles  of  his  new  party; 
for  no  party  is  without  them.  And  thus  men  become  pleased  with 
their  actions  under  some  appearance  of  moral  good,  distinct 
from  advantage. 

It  may  perhaps  be  alleged,  “ that  in  those  actions  of  our  own 
which  we  call  good,  there  is  this  constant  advantage,  superior 
to  all  others,  which  is  the  ground  of  our  approbation,  and  the 
motive  to  them  from  self-love,  viz. : That  we  suppose,  the  deity 
will  reward  them.”  This  will  be  more  fully  considered  after- 
wards : at  present  it  is  enough  to  observe  that  many  have  high 
notions  of  honour,  faith,  generosity,  justice  who  have  scarce  any 
opinions  about  the  deity,  or  any  thoughts  of  future  rewards ; and 
abhor  anything  which  is  treacherous,  cruel,  or  unjust,  without 
any  regard  to  future  punishments. 

But  further,  though  these  rewards  and  punishments  may 
make  my  own  actions  appear  advantageous  to  me,  and  make 
me  approve  them  from  self-love,  yet  they  would  never  make  me 
approve,  and  love  another  person  for  the  like  actions,  whose 
merit  would  not  be  imputed  to  me.  Those  actions  are  advan- 
tageous indeed  to  the  agent ; but  his  advantage  is  not  my  advan- 
tage; and  self-love  could  never  influence  me  to  approve  actions 
as  advantageous  to  others,  or  to  love  the  authors  of  them  on  that 
account. 

This  is  the  second  thing  to  be  considered,  “ Whether  our  sense 
of  the  moral  good  or  evil  in  the  actions  of  others  can  be  over- 
balanced or  bribed  by  views  of  interest.”  Now  I may  indeed 
easily  be  capable  of  wishing,  that  another  would  do  an  action  I 
abhor  as  morally  evil,  if  it  were  very  advantageous  to  me : inter- 
est in  that  case  rnay  overbalance  my  desire  of  virtue  in  another. 
But  no  interest  to  myself  will  make  me  approve  an  action  as 
morally  good,  which,  without  that  interest  to  myself,  would 
have  appeared  morally  evil,  if,  upon  computing  its  whole  effects, 
it  appears  to  produce  as  great  a moment  of  good  in  the  whole, 


CONCERNING  GOOD  AND  EVIL  399 

when  it  is  not  beneficial  to  me,  as  it  did  before  when  it  was.  In 
our  sense  of  moral  good  or  evil,  our  own  private  advantage  or 
loss  is  of  no  more  moment,  than  the  advantage  or  loss  of  a third 
person,  to  make  an  action  appear  good  or  evil.  This  sense  there- 
fore cannot  be  over-balanced  by  interest.  How  ridiculous  an 
attempt  would  it  be  to  engage  a man  by  rewards,  or  to  threaten 
him  into  a good  opinion  of  an  action  which  w'as  contrary  to  his 
moral  notions  ? We  may  procure  dissimulation  by  such  means, 
and  that  is  all. 

VII.  If  what  is  said  makes  it  appear  that  we  have  some  other 
amiable  idea  of  actions  than  that  of  advantage  to  ourselves, 
we  may  conclude,  “that  this  perception  of  moral  good  is  not 
derived  from  custom,  education,  example,  or  study.”  These 
give  us  no  new  ideas.  They  might  make  us  see  advantage  to  our- 
selves in  actions  whose  usefulness  did  not  at  first  appear;  or  give 
us  opinions  of  some  tendency  of  actions  to  our  detriment,  by 
some  nice  deductions  of  reason,  or  by  a rash  prejudice,  wEen 
upon  the  first  view  of  the  action  we  should  have  observed  no  such 
thing;  but  they  never  could  have  made  us  apprehend  actions  as 
amiable  or  odious,  without  any  consideration  of  our  own  ad- 
vantage. 

VIII.  It  remains  then,  “that  as  the  author  of  nature  has 
determined  us  to  receive  by  our  external  senses  pleasant  or 
disagreeable  ideas  of  objects,  according  as  they  are  useful  or 
hurtful  to  our  bodies;  and  to  receive  from  uniform  objects  the 
pleasures  of  beauty  and  harmony,  to  excite  us  to  the  pursuit  of 
knowledge,  and  to  reward  us  for  it;  or  to  be  an  argument  tons  of 
his  goodness,  as  the  uniformity  itself  proves  his  existence,  whether 
we  had  a sense  of  beauty  in  uniformity  or  not : in  the  same  man- 
ner he  has  given  us  a moral  sense,  to  direct  our  actions,  and  to 
give  us  still  nobler  pleasures ; so  that  while  we  are  only  intending 
the  good  of  others,  we  undesignedly  promote  our  own  greatest 
private  good.” 

We  are  not  to  imagine  that  this  moral  sense,  more  than  the 
other  senses,  supposes  any  innate  ideas,  knowledge,  or  practical 
proposition.  We  mean  by  it  only  a determination  of  our  minds 
to  receive  amiable  or  disagreeable  ideas  of  actions  when  they 


400 


FRANCIS  HUTCHESON 


occur  to  our  observation,  antecedent  to  any  opinions  of  advan- 
tage or  loss  to  redound  to  ourselves  from  them;  even  as  we  are 
pleased  with  a regular  form,  or  an  harmonious  composition, 
without  having  any  knowledge  of  mathematics,  or  seeing  any 
advantage  in  that  form,  or  composition,  different  from  the  im- 
mediate pleasure. 

SECTION  II.  CONCERNING  THE  IMMEDIATE 
MOTIVE  TO  VIRTUOUS  ACTIONS 

The  motives  of  human  actions,  or  their  immediate  causes,  would 
be  best  understood  after  considering  the  passions  and  affections, 
but  here  we  shall  only  consider  the  springs  of  the  actions  which 
we  call  virtuous,  as  far  as  it  is  necessary  to  settle  the  general 
foundation  of  the  moral  sense. 

I.  Every  action,  which  we  apprehend  as  either  morally  good 
or  evil,  is  always  supposed  to  flow  from  some  affection  toward 
rational  agents;  and  whatever  we  call  virtue  or  vice,  is  either 
some  affection,  or  some  action  consequent  upon  it.  Or  it  may 
perhaps  be  enough  to  make  an  action  or  omission  appear  vi- 
cious, if  it  argues  the  want  of  such  affection  toward  rational 
agents,  as  we  expect  in  characters  counted  morally  good.  All  the 
actions  counted  religious  in  any  country  are  supposed  by  those 
who  covmt  them  so  to  flow  from  some  affections  toward  the 
Deity;  and  whatever  we  call  social  virtue,  we  still  suppose  to  flow 
from  affections  toward  our  fellow-creatures : for  in  this  all  seem 
to  agree  “ that  external  motions,  when  accompanied  with  no  af- 
fections toward  God  or  man,  or  evidencing  no  want  of  the  ex- 
pected affections  toward  either,  can  have  no  moral  good  or  evil 
in  them.’’ 

Ask,  for  instance,  the  most  abstemious  hermit,  if  temperance 
of  itself  would  be  morally  good,  supposing  it  showed  no  obedi- 
ence toward  the  Deity,  made  us  no  fitter  for  devotion,  or  the  ser- 
vice of  mankind,  or  the  search  after  truth,  than  luxury;  and  he 
will  easily  grant  that  it  would  be  no  moral  good,  though  still  it 
might  be  naturally  good  or  advantageous  to  health.  And  mere 


CONCERNING  GOOD  AND  EVIL 


401 


courage,  or  contempt  of  danger,  if  we  conceive  it  to  have  no  re- 
gard to  the  defence  of  the  innocent,  or  repairing  of  wrongs,  or 
self-interest,  would  only  entitle  its  possessor  to  Bedlam.  When 
such  sort  of  courage  is  sometimes  admired,  it  is  upon  some  se- 
cret apprehension  of  a good  intention  in  the  use  of  it,  or  as  a nat- 
ural ability  capable  of  an  useful  application.  Prudence,  if  it  was 
only  employed  in  promoting  private  interest,  is  never  imagined 
to  be  a virtue;  and  justice,  or  observing  a strict  equality,  if  it  has 
no  regard  to  the  good  of  mankind,  the  preservation  of  rights,  and 
securing  peace,  is  a quality  properer  for  its  ordinary  gestamen,  a 
beam  and  scales,  than  for  a rational  agent.  So  that  these  four 
qualities,  commonly  called  cardinal  virtues,  obtain  that  name 
because  they  are  dispositions  universally  necessary  to  promote 
public  good,  and  denote  affections  toward  rational  agents;  other- 
wise there  would  appear  no  virtue  in  them. 

II.  Now  if  it  can  be  made  appear  that  none  of  these  affections 
which  we  call  virtuous  spring  from  self-love,  or  desire  of  private 
interest;  since  all  virtue  is  either  some  such  affections,  or  actions 
consequent  upon  them;  it  must  necessarily  follow,  “that  virtue 
is  not  pursued  from  the  interest  or  self-love  of  the  pursuer,  or 
any  motives  of  his  own  advantage.” 

The  affections  which  are  of  most  importance  in  morals  are 
love  and  hatred : all  the  rest  seem  but  different  modifications  of 
these  two  original  affections.  Now  in  discoursing  of  love  toward 
rational  agents,  we  need  not  be  cautioned  not  to  include  that  love 
between  the  sexes,  which,  when  no  other  affections  accompany 
it,  is  only  desire  of  pleasure,  and  is  never  counted  a virtue.  Love 
toward  rational  agents  is  subdivided  into  love  of  complacence, 
or  esteem,  and  love  of  benevolence ; and  hatred  is  subdivided  into 
hatred  of  displicence  or  contempt,  and  hatred  of  malice.  Con- 
cerning each  of  these  separately  we  shall  consider,  “whether 
they  can  be  influenced  by  motives  of  self-interest.” 

Love  of  complacence,  esteem,  or  good-liking,  at  first  view  ap- 
pears to  be  disinterested,  and  so  the  hatred  of  displicence  or  dis- 
like; and  are  entirely  excited  by  some  moral  qualities,  good  or 
evil,  apprehended  to  be  in  the  objects;  which  qualities  the  very 
frame  of  our  nature  determines  us  to  love  or  hate,  to  approve  or 


402 


FRANCIS  HUTCHESON 


disapprove,  according  to  the  moral  sense  above  explained.^  PrO' 
pose  to  a man  all  the  rewards  in  the  world,  or  threaten  all  the 
punishments,  to  engage  him  to  love  with  esteem  and  complacence 
a third  person  entirely  unknown,  or  if  known,  apprehended  to 
be  cruel,  treacherous,  ungrateful;  you  may  procure  external 
obsequiousness,  or  good  offices,  or  dissimulation  of  love;  but 
real  love  of  esteem  no  price  can  purchase.  And  the  same  is  ob- 
vious as  to  hatred  of  contempt,  which  no  motive  of  advantage 
can  prevent.  On  the  contrary,  represent  a character  as  gener- 
ous, kind,  faithful,  humane,  though  in  the  most  distant  parts 
of  the  world,  and  we  cannot  avoid  loving  it  with  esteem  and  com- 
placence. A bribe  may  make  us  attempt  to  ruin  such  a man,  or 
some  strong  motive  of  advantage  may  excite  us  to  oppose  his 
interest;  but  it  can  never  make  us  hate  him,  while  we  apprehend 
him  as  morally  excellent.  Nay,  when  we  consult  our  own  hearts, 
we  shall  find  that  we  can  scarce  ever  persuade  ourselves  to  at- 
tempt any  mischief  against  such  persons  from  any  motive  of 
advantage,  nor  execute  it  without  the  strongest  reluctance  and 
remorse,  until  we  have  blinded  ourselves  into  a bad  opinion  of 
the  person  in  a moral  sense. 

III.  As  to  the  love  of  benevolence,  the  very  name  excludes 
self-interest.  We  never  call  that  man  benevolent,  who  is  in  fact 
useful  to  others,  but  at  the  same  time  only  intends  his  own  inter- 
est, without  any  desire  of,  or  delight  in,  the  good  of  others.  If 
there  be  any  benevolence  at  all,  it  must  be  disinterested;  for  the 
most  useful  action  imaginable,  loses  all  appearance  of  benevo- 
lence, as  soon  as  we  discern  that  it  only  flowed  from  self-love  or 
interest.  Thus  never  were  any  human  actions  more  advanta- 
geous than  the  inventions  of  fire  and  iron;  but  if  these  were  casual, 
or  if  the  inventor  only  intended  his  own  interest  in  them,  there  is 
nothing  which  can  be  called  benevolent  in  them.  Wherever  then 
benevolence  is  supposed,  there  it  is  imagined  disinterested  and 
designed  for  the  good  of  others. 

But  it  must  be  here  observed  that  as  all  men  have  self-love, 
as  well  as  benevolence,  these  two  principles  may  jointly  excite 
a man  to  the  same  action;  and  then  they  are  to  be  considered  as 


‘ See  Sect.  L 


CONCERNING  GOOD  AND  EVIL  403 

two  forces  impelling  the  same  body  to  motion ; sometimes  they 
conspire,  sometimes  are  indifferent  to  each  other,  and  sometimes 
are  in  some  degree  opposite.  Thus,  if  a man  have  such  strong 
benevolence  as  would  have  produced  an  action  without  any 
views  of  self-interest;  that  such  a man  has  also  in  view  private 
advantage,  along  with  public  good,  as  the  effect  of  his  action, 
does  no  way  diminish  the  benevolence  of  the  action.  When  he 
would  not  have  produced  so  much  public  good  had  it  not  been 
for  prospect  of  self-interest,  then  the  effect  of  self-love  is  to  be 
deducted,  and  his  benevolence  is  proportioned  to  the  remainder 
of  good,  which  pure  benevolence  would  have  produced.  When 
a man’s  benevolence  is  hurtful  to  himself,  then  self-love  is  oppo- 
site to  benevolence,  and  the  benevolence  is  proportioned  to  the 
sum  of  the  good  produced,  added  to  the  resistance  of  self-love 
surmounted  by  it.  In  most  cases  it  is  impossible  for  men  to  know 
how  far  their  fellows  are  influenced  by  the  one  or  other  of 
these  principles ; but  yet  the  general  truth  is  sufficiently  certain, 
that  this  is  the  way  in  which  the  benevolence  of  actions  is  to  be 
computed.  Since  then  no  love  to  rational  agents  can  proceed 
from  self-interest,  every  action  must  be  disinterested,  as  far  as  it 
flows  from  love  to  rational  agents. 

If  any  enquire,  “whence  arises  this  love  of  esteem  or  benevo- 
lence to  good  men,  or  to  mankind  in  general,  if  not  from  some 
nice  views  or  self-interest  ? Or  how  we  can  be  moved  to  desire 
the  happiness  of  others,  without  any  view  to  our  own?”  it  may 
be  answered,  “that  the  same  cause  which  determines  us  to 
pursue  happiness  for  ourselves,  determines  us  both  to  esteem 
and  benevolence  on  their  proper  occasions ; even  the  very  frame 
of  our  nature,  or  a generous  instinct,  which  shall  be  afterwards 
explained.” 

VI.  There  is  one  objection  against  disinterested  love,  which 
occurs  from  considering,  “ that  nothing  so  effectually  excites  our 
love  toward  rational  agents,  as  their  beneficence  to  us;  whence 
we  are  led  to  imagine  that  our  love  of  persons,  as  well  as  irra- 
tional objects,  flows  entirely  from  self-interest.”  But  let  us  here 
examine  ourselves  more  narrowly.  Do  we  only  love  the  benefi- 
cent because  it  is  our  interest  to  love  them  ? Or  do  we  choose  to 


404 


FRANCIS  HUTCHESON 


love  them  because  our  love  is  the  means  of  procuring  their 
bounty  ? If  it  be  so  then  we  could  indifferently  love  any  charac- 
ter even  to  obtain  the  bounty  of  a third  person ; or  we  could  be 
bribed  by  a third  person  to  love  the  greatest  villain  heartily  as 
we  may  be  bribed  to  external  offices : now  this  is  plainly  impos- 
sible. 

But  further,  is  not  our  love  always  the  consequent  of  bounty, 
and  not  the  means  of  procuring  it  ? External  show,  obsequious- 
ness, and  dissimulation  may  precede  an  opinion  of  beneficence; 
but  real  love  always  presupposes  it,  and  shall  necessarily  arise 
even  when  we  expect  no  more,  from  consideration  of  past  bene- 
fits. Or  can  any  one  say  he  only  loves  the  beneficent,  as  he  does 
a field  or  garden,  because  of  its  advantage?  His  love  then  must 
cease  toward  one  who  has  ruined  himself  in  kind  offices  to  him, 
when  he  can  do  him  no  more;  as  we  cease  to  love  an  inanimate 
object  which  ceases  to  be  useful,  unless  a poetical  prosopopoeia 
animate  it,  and  raise  an  imaginary  gratitude,  which  is  indeed 
pretty  common.  And  then  again,  our  love  would  be  the  same 
towards  the  worst  characters  that ’t  is  towards  the  best,  if  they 
were  equally  bountiful  to  us,  which  is  also  false.  Beneficence 
then  must  raise  our  love  as  it  is  an  amiable  moral  quality;  and 
hence  we  love  even  those  who  are  beneficent  to  others. 

If  then  no  love  toward  persons  be  influenced  by  self-love  or 
views  of  interest,  and  all  virtue  flows  from  love  toward  persons, 
or  some  other  affection  equally  disinterested,  it  remains,  “that 
there  must  be  some  other  motive  than  self-love,  or  interest,  which 
excites  us  to  the  actions  we  call  virtuous.” 

VIII.  The  last,  and  only  remaining  objection  against  what 
has  been  said,  is  this,  “that  virtue  perhaps  is  pursued  because 
of  the  concomitant  pleasure.”  To  which  we  may  answer,  first, 
by  observing,  that  this  plainly  supposes  a sense  of  virtue  ante- 
cedent to  ideas  of  advantage,  upon  which  this  advantage  is 
founded ; and  that  from  the  very  frame  of  our  nature  we  are  de- 
termined to  perceive  pleasure  in  the  practice  of  virtue,  and  to 
approve  it  when  practised  by  ourselves  or  others. 

But  further,  may  we  not  justly  question,  whether  all  virtue  is 
pleasant  ? Or,  whether  we  are  not  determined  to  some  amiable 


CONCERNING  GOOD  AND  EVIL  405 

actions  in  which  we  find  no  pleasure  ? ’T  is  true  all  the  passions 
and  affections  justify  themselves;  or,  we  approve  our  being  af- 
fected in  a certain  manner  on  certain  occasions,  and  condemn 
a person  who  is  otherwise  affected.  So  the  sorrowfuJ,  the  angry, 
the  jealous,  the  compassionate,  think  it  reasonable  they  should  be 
so  upon  the  several  occasions  which  move  these  passions ; but  we 
should  not  therefore  say  that  sorrow,  anger,  jealousy,  or  pity  are 
4>leasant,  and  that  we  choose  to  be  in  these  passions  because  of 
the  concomitant  pleasure.  The  matter  is  plainly  this.  The  frame 
of  our  nature,  on  such  occasions  as  move  these  passions,  deter- 
mines us  to  be  thus  affected,  and  to  approve  our  being  so : nay, 
we  dislike  any  person  who  is  not  thus  affected  upon  such  occa- 
sions, notwithstanding  the  uneasiness  of  these  passions.  This 
uneasiness  determines  us  to  endeavour  an  alteration  in  the  state 
of  the  object,  but  not  otherwise  to  remove  the  painful  affection, 
while  the  occasion  is  unaltered ; which  shows  that  these  affections 
are  neither  chosen  for  their  concomitant  pleasure,  nor  voluntarily 
brought  upon  ourselves  with  a view  to  private  good.  The  actions 
which  these  passions  move  us  to,  tend  generally  to  remove  the  un- 
easy passion  by  altering  the  state  of  the  object ; but  the  removal 
of  our  pain  is  seldom  directly  intended  in  the  uneasy  benevolent 
passions,  nor  is  the  alteration  intended  in  the  state  of  the  objects 
by  such  passions  imagined  to  be  a private  good  to  the  agent,  as  it 
always  is  in  the  selfish  passions.  If  our  sole  intention  in  com- 
passion or  pity  was  the  removal  of  our  pain,  we  should  run  away, 
shut  our  eyes,  divert  our  thoughts  from  the  miserable  object,  to 
avoid  the  pain  of  compassion,  which  we  seldom  do;  nay,  we 
crowd  about  such  objects,  and  voluntarily  expose  ourselves  to 
pain,  unless  reason,  and  reflection  upon  our  inability  to  relieve 
the  miserable,  countermand  our  inclination ; or  some  selfish  af- 
fection, as  fear  of  danger,  overbalances  it. 

Now  there  are  several  morally  amiable  actions,  which  flow 
from  these  passions  which  are  so  uneasy;  such  as  attempts  of 
relieving  the  distressed,  of  defending  the  injured,  of  repairing  of 
wrongs  done  by  ourselves.  These  actions  are  often  accompanied 
with  no  pleasure  in  the  mean  time,  nor  have  they  any  subsequent 
pleasure,  except  as  they  are  successful;  unless  it  be  that  which 


4o6 


FRANCIS  HUTCHESON 


may  arise  from  calm  reflection,  when  the  passion  is  over,  upon 
our  having  been  in  a disposition,  which  to  our  moral  sense  ap- 
pears lovely  and  good : but  this  pleasure  is  never  intended  in  the 
heat  of  action,  nor  is  it  any  motive  exciting  to  it. 

Besides,  in  the  pleasant  passions,  we  do  not  love  because  it 
is  pleasant  to  love;  we  do  not  choose  this  state  because  it  is  an 
advantageous  or  pleasant  state:  this  passion  necessarily  arises 
from  seeing  its  proper  object,  a morally  good  character.  And 
if  we  could  love,  whenever  we  see  it  would  be  our  interest  to  love, 
love  could  be  bribed  by  a third  person ; and  we  could  never  love 
persons  in  distress,  for  then  our  love  gives  us  pain.  The  same 
observation  may  be  extended  to  all  the  other  affections  from 
which  virtue  is  supposed  to  flow.  And  from  the  whole  we  -may 
conclude,  “that  the  virtuous  agent  is  never  apprehended  by  us 
as  acting  only  from  views  of  his  own  interest,  but  as  principally 
influenced  by  some  other  motive.” 

IX.  Having  removed  these  false  springs  of  virtuous  actions, 
let  us  next  establish  the  true  one,  viz.  some  determination  of  our 
nature  to  study  the  good  of  others;  or  some  instinct,  antecedent 
to  all  reason  from  interest,  which  influences  us  to  the  love  of 
others ; even  as  the  moral  sense  above  explained  * determines  us 
to  approve  the  actions  which  flow  from  this  love  in  ourselves  or 
others.  This  disinterested  affection  may  appear  strange  to  men 
impressed  with  notions  of  self-love  as  the  sole  motive  of  action, 
from  the  pulpit,  the  schools,  the  systems,  and  conversations  regu- 
lated by  them ; but  let  us  consider  it  in  its  strongest,  and  simplest 
kinds,  and  when  we  see  the  possibility  of  it  in  these  instances, 
we  may  easily  discover  its  universal  extent. 

An  honest  farmer  will  tell  you,  that  he  studies  the  preservation 
and  happiness  of  his  children,  and  loves  them  without  any  design 
of  good  to  himself.  But  say  some  of  our  philosophers,  “ the  hap- 
piness of  their  children  gives  parents  pleasure,  and  their  misery 
gives  them  pain;  and  therefore  to  obtain  the  former  and  avoid 
the  latter,  they  study  from  self-love  the  good  of  their  children.” 
Suppose  several  merchants  joined  in  partnership  of  their  whole 
effects ; one  of  them  is  employed  abroad  in  managing  the  stock  of 

‘ See  Sect.  i. 


CONCERNING  GOOD  AND  EVIL  407 

the  company ; his  prosperity  occasions  gain  to  all,  and  his  losses 
give  them  pain  from  their  share  in  the  loss ; is  this  then  the  same 
kind  of  affection  with  that  of  parents  to  their  children  ? Is  there 
the  same  tender,  personal  regard  ? I fancy  no  parent  will  say  so. 
In  this  case  of  merchants  there  is  a plain  conjunction  of  inter- 
est; but  whence  the  conjunction  of  interest  between  the  parent 
and  child  ? Do  the  child’s  sensations  give  pleasure  or  pain  to  the 
parent  ? Is  the  parent  hungry,  thirsty,  sick,  when  the  child  is  so  ? 
“No,  but  his  love  to  the  child  makes  him  affected  with  his  plea- 
sures or  pains.”  This  love  then  is  antecedent  to  the  conjunction 
of  interest,  and  the  cause  of  it,  not  the  effect : this  love  then  must 
be  disinterested.  “No,”  says  another  sophist,  “children  are  parts 
of  ourselves,  and  in  loving  them  we  but  love  ourselves  in  them.” 
A very  good  answer ! Let  us  carry  it  as  far  as  it  will  go.  How  are 
they  parts  of  ourselves  ? Not  as  a leg  or  an  arm : we  are  not  con- 
scious of  their  sensations.  “But  their  bodies  were  formed  from 
parts  of  ours.”  So  is  a fly,  or  a maggot  which  may  breed  in  any 
discharged  blood  or  humour : very  dear  insects  surely ! There  must 
be  something  else  then  which  makes  children  parts  of  ourselves ; 
and  what  is  this  but  that  affection  which  Nature  determines  us  to 
have  towards  them?  This  love  makes  them  parts  of  ourselves 
and  therefore  does  not  flow  from  their  being  so  before.  This  is 
indeed  a good  metaphor ; and  wherever  we  find  a determination 
among  several  rational  agents  to  mutual  love,  let  each  individual 
be  looked  upon  as  a part  of  a great  whole  or  system,  and  concern 
himself  in  the  public  good  of  it. 

But  a later  author  observes,^  “ that  natural  affection  in  parents 
is  weak,  till  the  children  begin  to  give  evidences  of  knowledge 
and  affections.”  Mothers  say  they  feel  it  strong  from  the  very 
first,  and  yet  I could  wish  for  the  destruction  of  his  hypothesis, 
that  what  he  alleges  was  true ; as  I fancy  it  is  in  some  measure, 
though  we  may  find  in  some  parents  an  affection  towards  idiots. 
The  observing  of  understanding  and  affections  in  children,  which 
make  them  appear  moral  agents,  can  increase  love  toward  them 
without  prospect  of  interest;  for  I hope  this  increase  of  love  is 
not  from  prospect  of  advantage  from  the  knowledge  or  affections 

‘ See  Mandeville’s  Fable  of  the  Bees. 


FRANCIS  HUTCHESON 


408 

of  children,  for  whom  parents  are  still  toiling,  and  never  intend 
to  be  refunded  their  expenses,  or  recompensed  for  their  labour, 
but  in  cases  of  extreme  necessity.  If  then  the  observing  a moral 
capacity  can  be  the  occasion  of  increasing  love  without  self-in- 
terest even  from  the  frame  of  our  nature ; pray,  may  not  this  be  a 
foundation  of  weaker  degrees  of  love  where  there  is  no  preceding 
tie  of  parentage,  and  extend  it  to  all  mankind  ? 

X.  And  that  this  is  so  in  fact  will  appear  by  considering  some 
more  distant  attachments.  If  we  observe  any  neighbours,  from 
whom  perhaps  we  have  received  no  good  offices,  formed  into 
friendships,  families,  partnerships,  and  with  honesty  and  kind- 
ness assisting  each  other ; pray  ask  any  mortal  if  he  would  not 
be  better  pleased  with  their  prosperity,  when  their  interests  are 
no  way  inconsistent  with  his  own,  than  with  their  misery  and 
ruin ; and  you  shall  find  a bond  of  benevolence  further  extended 
than  a family  and  children,  although  the  ties  are  not  so  strong. 
Again,  suppose  a person  for  trade  had  left  his  native  country, 
and  with  all  his  kindred  had  settled  his  fortunes  abroad  without 
any  view  of  returning;  and  only  imagine  he  had  received  no  in- 
juries from  his  country;  ask  such  a man,  would  it  give  him  no 
pleasure  to  hear  of  the  prosperity  of  his  country?  Or  could  he, 
now  that  his  interests  are  separated  from  that  of  his  nation,  as 
gladly  hear  that  it  was  laid  w'aste  by  tyranny  or  a foreign  power? 
I fancy  his  answer  would  show  us  a benevolence  extended  beyond 
neighbourhoods  or  acquaintances.  Let  a man  of  a composed 
temper,  out  of  the  hurry  of  private  affairs,  only  read  of  the  consti- 
tution of  a foreign  country,  even  in  the  most  distant  parts  of  the 
earth,  and  observe  art,  design,  and  a study  of  public  good  in  the 
laws  of  this  association ; and  he  shall  find  his  mind  moved  in  their 
favour ; he  shall  be  contriving  rectifications  and  amendments  in 
their  constitution,  and  regret  any  unlucky  part  of  it  which  may 
be  pernicious  to  their  interest ; he  shall  bewail  any  disaster  which 
befalls  them,  and  accompany  all  their  fortunes  with  the  affec- 
tions of  a friend.  Now  this  proves  benevolence  to  be  in  some 
degree  extended  to  all  mankind,  where  there  is  no  interfering 
interest  which  from  self-love  may  obstruct  it.  And  had  we  any 
notions  of  rational  agents,  capable  of  moral  affections,  in  the  most 


CONCERNING  GOOD  AND  EVIL  409 

distant  planets,  our  good  wishes  would  still  attend  them,  and  we 
should  delight  in  their  happiness. 

XI.  Here  we  may  transiently  remark  the  foundation  of  what 
we  call  national  love,  or  love  of  one’s  native  country.  Whatever 
place  we  have  lived  in  for  any  considerable  time,  there  we  have 
most  distinctly  remarked  the  various  affections  of  human  nature ; 
we  have  known  many  lovely  characters ; v/e  remember  the  asso- 
ciations, friendships,  families,  natural  affections,  and  other  hu- 
man sentiments ; our  moral  sense  determines  us  to  approve  these 
lovely  dispositions  where  we  have  most  distinctly  observed  them, 
and  our  benevolence  concerns  us  in  the  interests  of  the  persons 
possessed  of  them.  When  we  come  to  observe  the  like  as  dis- 
tinctly in  another  country  we  begin  to  acquire  a national  love 
toward  it  also ; nor  has  our  own  country  any  other  preference  in 
our  idea,  unless  it  be  by  an  association  of  the  pleasant  ideas  of 
our  youth,  with  the  buildings,  fields,  and  woods  where  we  re- 
ceived them.  This  may  let  us  see  how  tyranny,  faction,  a neglect 
of  justice,  a corruption  of  manners,  or  anything  which  occasions 
the  misery  of  the  subjects,  destroys  this  national  love,  and  the 
dear  idea  of  a country. 

We  ought  here  to  observe  that  the  only  reason  of  that  apparent 
want  of  natural  affection  among  collateral  relations,  is,  that  these 
natural  inclinations  in  many  cases  are  overpowered  by  self-love, 
where  there  happens  any  opposition  of  interests ; but  where  this 
does  not  happen,  we  shall  find  all  mankind  under  its  influence, 
though  with  different  degrees  of  strength,  according  to  the  nearer 
or  more  remote  relations  they  stand  in  to  each  other ; and  according 
as  the  natural  affection  of  benevolence  is  joined  with  and  strength- 
ened by  esteem,  gratitude,  compassion,  or  other  kind  affections ; 
or  on  the  contrary,  weakened  by  displicence,  anger,  or  envy. 


410 


FRANCIS  HUTCHESON 


SECTION  III.  THE  SENSE  OF  VIRTUE  REDUCI- 
BLE TO  ONE  GENERAL  FOUNDATION  THE 
MANNER  OF  COMPUTING  THE  MORALITY 
OF  ACTIONS 

I.  If  we  examine  all  the  actions  which  are  counted  amiable  any- 
where, and  enquire  into  the  grounds  upon  which  they  are  ap- 
proved, we  shall  find  that  in  the  opinion  of  the  person  who  ap- 
proves them,  they  always  appear  as  benevolent  or  flowing  from 
love  of  others  and  a study  of  their  happiness,  whether  the  ap- 
prover be  one  of  the  persons  beloved,  or  profited,  or  not;  so  that 
kind  affections  which  incline  us  to  make  others  happy,  and  all 
actions  supposed  to  flow  from  such  affections,  appear  morally 
good,  if  while  they  are  benevolent  toward  some  persons,  they  be 
not  pernicious  to  others.  Nor  shall  we  find  anything  amiable  in 
any  action  whatsoever,  where  there  is  no  benevolence  imagined ; 
nor  in  any  disposition,  or  capacity,  which  is  not  supposed  appli- 
cable to,  and  designed  for  benevolent  purposes.  Nay,  as  we  be- 
fore observed,^  the  actions  which  in  fact  are  exceedingly  useful, 
shall  appear  void  of  moral  beauty,  if  we  know  they  proceeded 
from  no  kind  intentions  toward  others;  and  yet  an  unsuccessful 
attempt  of  kindness  or  of  promoting  public  good  shall  appear 
as  amiable  as  the  most  successful,  if  it  flowed  from  as  strong 
benevolence. 

II.  Hence  those  affections  which  would  lead  us  to  do  good 
to  our  benefactor  shall  appear  amiable,  and  the  contrary  affec- 
tions odious,  even  when  our  actions  cannot  possibly  be  of  any 
advantage  or  hurt  to  him.  Thus  a sincere  love  and  gratitude 
toward  our  benefactor,  a cheerful  readiness  to  do  whatever  he 
shall  require,  how  burdensome  soever,  a hearty  inclination  to 
comply  with  his  intentions,  and  contentment  with  the  state  he 
has  placed  us  in,  are  the  strongest  evidences  of  benevolence  we 
can  show  to  such  a person;  and  therefore  they  must  appear  ex- 
ceedingly amiable.  And  under  these  is  included  all  the  rational 
devotion,  or  religion  toward  a Deity  apprehended  as  good,  which 
we  can  possibly  perform. 

“ See  Sect.  ii.  Art.  3,  Par.  i (§  92);  Art.  6,  Par.  3 (§  100). 


CONCERNING  GOOD  AND  EVIL  41 1 


III.  Again,  that  we  may  see  how  love,  or  benevolence,  is  the 
foundation  of  ail  apprehended  excellence  in  social  virtues,  let 
us  only  observe  that  amidst  the  diversity  of  sentiments  on  this 
head  among  various  sects,  this  is  still  allowed  to  be  the  way -of 
deciding  the  controversy  about  any  disputed  practice,  viz.  to 
enquire  whether  this  conduct,  or  the  contrary,  will  most  effect- 
ually promote  the  public  good.  The  morality  is  immediately  ad- 
justed, when  the  natural  tendency  or  influence  of  the  action  upon 
the  universal  natural  good  of  mankind  is  agreed  upon.  That 
which  produces  more  good  than  evil  in  the  whole  is  acknow- 
ledged good;  and  what  does  not,  is  counted  evil.  In  this  case  we 
no  other  way  regard  the  good  of  the  actor,  or  that  of  those  who 
are  thus  enquiring,  than  as  they  make  a part  of  the  great  system. 

In  our  late  debates  about  passive  obedience,  and  the  right  of 
resistance  in  defence  of  privileges,  the  point  disputed  among 
men  of  sense  was,  “ whether  universal  submission  would  probably 
be  attended  with  greater  natural  evils  than  temporary  insurrec- 
tions, when  privileges  are  invaded;  and  not,  whether  what  tended 
in  the  whole  to  the  public  natural  good  was  also  morally  good  ? ” 
And  if  a divine  command  was  alleged  in  favour  of  the  doctrine  of 
passive  obedience,  this  would,  no  doubt,  by  its  eternal  sanctions 
cast  the  balance  of  natural  good  to  its  own  side,  and  determine 
our  election  from  interest ; and  yet  our  sense  of  the  moral  good 
in  passive  obedience,  would  still  be  founded  upon  some  species 
of  benevolence,  such  as  gratitude  toward  the  Deity  and  sub- 
mission to  his  will  to  whom  we  are  so  much  obliged.  But  I fancy 
those  who  believe  the  Deity  to  be  good  would  not  rashly  allege 
such  a command,  unless  they  also  asserted,  that  the  thing  com- 
manded did  tend  more  to  the  universal  good,  than  the  contrary, 
either  by  preventing  the  external  evils  of  civil  war,  or  by  enuring 
men  to  patience,  or  some  other  quality  which  they  apprehended 
necessary  to  their  everlasting  happiness.  And  were  it  not  so, 
obedience  might  be  recommended  as  an  inglorious  method  of 
passive  escaping  a greater  mischief,  but  could  never  have  anything 
morally  amiable  in  it. 

But  let  us  quit  the  disputes  of  the  learned,  on  whom  it  may 


412 


FRANCIS  HUTCHESON 


be  alleged  custom  and  education  have  a powerful  influence; 
and  consider  upon  what  grounds  in  common  life  actions  are 
approved  or  condemned,  vindicated  or  excused.  We  are  univer- 
sally ashamed  to  say  an  action  is  just,  because  it  tends  to  my 
advantage,  or  to  the  advantage  of  the  actor : and  we  as  seldom 
condemn  a beneficent  kind  action,  because  it  is  not  advantageous 
to  us,  or  to  the  actor.  Blame  and  censure  are  founded  on  a 
tendency  to  public  evil,  or  a principle  of  private  malice  in  the 
agent,  or  neglect  at  least  of  the  good  of  others;  on  inhumanity  of 
temper,  or  at  least  such  strong  selfishness  as  makes  the  agent  care- 
less of  the  sufferings  of  others ; and  thus  we  blame  and  censure 
when  the  action  no  way  affects  ourselves.  All  the  moving  and 
persuasive  vindications  of  actions,  which  may  from  some  partial 
evil  tendency  appear  evil,  are  taken  from  this,  that  they  were 
necessary  to  some  greater  good  which  counterbalanced  the  evil ; 
“severity  toward  a few,  is  compassion  toward  multitudes. — 
Transitory  punishments  are  necessary  for  avoiding  more  durable 
evils.  — Did  not  some  suffer  on  such  occasions,  there  would  be 
no  living  for  honest  men,”  — and  such  like.  And  even  when  an 
action  cannot  be  entirely  justified,  yet  how  greatly  is  the  guilt 
extenuated,  if  we  can  allege,  “that  it  was  only  the  effect  of  in- 
advertence without  malice,  or  of  partial  good  nature,  friendship, 
compassion,  natural  affection,  or  love  of  a party?”  All  these 
considerations  show  what  is  the  universal  foundation  of  our  sense 
of  moral  good,  or  evil,  viz.  benevolence  toward  others  on  one  hand, 
and  malice,  or  even  indolence,  and  unconcernedness  about  the 
apparent  public  evil  on  the  other.  And  let  it  be  here  observed, 
that  we  are  so  far  from  imagining  all  men  to  act  only  from  self- 
love,  that  we  universally  expect  in  others  a regard  for  the  public; 
and  do  not  look  upon  the  want  of  this,  as  barely  the  absence  of 
moral  good  or  virtue,  but  even  as  positively  evil  and  hateful. 

V.  The  actions  which  flow  solely  from  self-love,  and  yet  evi- 
dence no  want  of  benevolence,  having  no  hurtful  effects  upon 
others,  seem  perfectly  indifferent  in  a moral  sense,  and  neither 
raise  the  love  or  hatred  of  the  observer.  Our  reason  can  indeed 
discover  certain  bounds  within  which  we  may  not  only  act  from 
self-love  consistently  with  the  good  of  the  whole,  but  every  mor- 


CONCERNING  GOOD  AND  EVIL  413 

tal’s  acting  thus  within  these  bounds  for  his  own  good  is  abso- 
lutely necessary  for  the  good  of  the  whole ; and  the  want  of  such 
self-love  would  be  universally  pernicious.  Hence  he  who  pur- 
sues his  own  private  good  with  an  intention  also  to  concur  with 
that  constitution  which  tends  to  the  good  of  the  whole;  and  much 
more  he  who  promotes  his  own  good,  with  a direct  view  of  mak- 
ing himself  more  capable  of  serving  God,  or  doing  good  to  man- 
kind, acts  not  only  innocently,  but  also  honourably  and  virtu- 
ously; for  in  both  these  cases  a motive  of  benevolence  concurs 
with  self-love  to  excite  him  to  the  action.  And  thus  a neglect  of 
our  own  good,  may  be  morally  evil,  and  argue  a want  of  benevo- 
lence toward  the  whole.  But  when  self-love  breaks  over  the 
bounds  above-mentioned,  and  leads  us  into  actions  detrimental 
to  others  and  to  the  wEole,  or  makes  us  insensible  of  the  gener- 
ous kind  affections,  then  it  appears  vicious,  and  is  disapproved. 
So  also,  when  upon  any  small  injuries  or  sudden  resen tm.ent  or 
any  w'eak  superstitious  suggestions,  our  benevolence  becomes 
so  faint  as  to  let  us  entertain  odious  conceptions  of  men,  or  any 
part  of  them,  without  just  ground,  as  if  they  were  wholly  evil 
or  malicious,  or  as  if  they  were  a worse  sort  of  beings  than  they 
really  are;  these  conceptions  must  lead  us  into  malevolent  af- 
fections, or  at  least  weaken  our  good  ones,  and  make  us  really 
vicious. 

VI.  Here  we  must  also  observe  that  every  moral  agent  justly 
considers  himself  as  a part  of  this  rational  system,  which  may 
be  useful  to  the  whole;  so- that  he  may  be  in  part  an  object  of  his 
own  benevolence.  Nay  further,  as  we  hinted  above,  he  may  see 
that  the  preservation  of  the  system  requires  every  one  to  be  inno- 
cently solicitous  about  himself.  Hence  he  may  conclude  that 
an  action  which  brings  greater  evil  to  the  agent  than  good  to 
others,  however  it  may  evidence  strong  benevolence  or  a virtuous 
disposition  in  the  agent,  yet  it  must  be  founded  upon  a mistaken 
opinion  of  its  tendency  to  public  good,  when  it  has  no  such  ten- 
dency : so  that  a man  who  reasoned  justly,  and  considered  the 
wEole,  would  not  be  led  into  it,  were  his  benevolence  ever  so 
strong;  nor  would  he  recommend  it  to  the  practice  of  others, 
how'ever  he  might  acknowledge,  that  the  detriment  arising  to 


4H 


FRANCIS  HUTCHESON 


the  agent  from  a kind  action  did  evidence  a strong  disposition 
to  virtue.  Nay  further,  if  any  good  was  proposed  to  the  pursuit 
of  an  agent,  and  he  had  a competitor  in  every  respect  only  equal 
to  himself ; the  highest  benevolence  possible  would  not  lead  a wise 
man  to  prefer  another  to  himself,  were  there  no  ties  of  gratitude, 
or  some  other  external  circumstance  to  move  him  to  yield  to  his 
competitor.  A man  surely  of  the  strongest  benevolence,  may  justly 
treat  himself  as  he  would  do  a third  person,  who  was  a competi- 
tor of  equal  merit  with  the  other;  and  as  his  preferring  one  to 
another,  in  such  a case,  would  argue  no  weakness  of  benevolence; 
so,  no  more  would  he  evidence  it  by  preferring  himself  to  a man 
of  only  equal  abilities. 

Wherever  a regard  to  myself  tends  as  much  to  the  good  of  the 
whole  as  regard  to  another ; or  where  the  evil  to  myself,  is  equal 
to  the  good  obtained  for  another ; though  by  acting  in  such  cases 
for  the  good  of  another  I really  show  a very  amiable  disposition; 
yet  by  acting  in  the  contrary  manner  from  regard  to  myself  I 
evidence  no  evil  disposition,  nor  any  want  of  the  most  extensive 
benevolence ; since  the  moment  of  good  to  the  whole  is  in  both 
cases  exactly  equal.  And  let  it  be  here  observed,  that  this  does 
not  supersede  the  necessity  of  liberality  and  gratuitous  gifts, 
although  in  such  actions  the  giver  loses  as  much  as  the  other  re- 
ceives; since  the  moment  of  good  to  any  person,  in  any  given 
case,  is  in  a compound  ratio  of  the  quantity  of  the  good  itself,  and 
the  indigence  of  the  person.  Hence  it  appears  that  a gift  may 
make  a much  greater  addition  to  the  happiness  of  the  receiver, 
than  the  diminution  it  occasions  in  the  happiness  of  the  giver; 
and  that  the  most  useful  and  important  gifts  are  those  from  the 
wealthy  to  the  indigent.  Gifts  from  equals  are  not  useless  neither, 
since  they  often  increase  the  happiness  of  both,  as  they  are  strong 
evidences  of  mutual  love ; but  gifts  from  the  poor  to  the  wealthy 
are  really  foolish,  unless  they  be  only  little  expressions  of  grati- 
tude, which  are  also  fruitful  of  joy  on  both  sides;  for  these  ex- 
pressions of  gratitude  are  really  delightful  and  acceptable  to  the 
wealthy,  if  they  have  any  humanity,  and  their  acceptance  of  them 
is  matter  of  joy  to  the  poor  giver. 

In  like  manner,  when  an  action  does  more  harm  to  the  agent 


CONCERNING  GOOD  AND  EVIL  415 

than  good  to  the  public;  the  doing  it  evidences  an  amiable  and 
truly  virtuous  disposition  in  the  agent,  though ’t  is  plain  he  acts 
upon  a mistaken  view  of  his  duty.  But  if  the  private  evil  to  the 
agent  be  so  great,  as  to  make  him  incapable  at  another  time  of 
promoting  a public  good  of  greater  moment  than  what  is  attained 
by  this  action;  the  action  may  really  be  evil,  so  far  as  it  evidences 
a prior  neglect  of  a greater  attainable  public  good  for  a smaller 
one;  though  at  present  this  action  also  flows  from  a virtuous 
disposition. 

VII.  The  moral  beauty  or  deformity  of  actions  is  not  altered 
by  the  moral  qualities  of  the  objects,  any  further  than  the  quali- 
ties of  the  objects  increase  or  diminish  the  benevolence  of  the 
action,  or  the  public  good  intended  by  it.  Thus  benevolence 
toward  the  worst  characters  or  the  study  of  their  good  may  be 
as  amiable  as  any  whatsoever;  yea  often  more  so  than  that  to- 
ward the  good,  since  it  argues  such  a strong  degree  of  benevo- 
lence as  can  surmount  the  greatest  obstacle,  the  moral  evil  in  the 
object.  Hence  the  love  of  unjust  enemies  is  counted  among  the 
highest  virtues.  Yet  when  our  benevolence  to  the  evil  encour- 
ages them  in  their  bad  intentions,  or  makes  them  capable  of  mis- 
chief ; this  diminishes  or  destroys  the  beauty  of  the  action,  or  even 
makes  it  evil,  as  it  betrays  a neglect  of  the  good  of  others  more 
valuable;  beneficence  toward  whom  would  have  tended  more 
to  the  public  good  than  that  toward  our  favourites;  but  benevo- 
lence toward  evil  characters,  which  neither  encourages  them,  nor 
enables  them  to  do  mischief,  nor  diverts  our  benevolence  from 
persons  more  useful,  has  as  much  moral  beauty  as  any  whatso- 
ever. 

VIII.  In  comparing  the  moral  qualities  of  actions,  in  order  to 
regulate  our  election  among  various  actions  proposed,  or  to  find 
which  of  them  has  the  greatest  moral  excellency,  we  are  led  by 
our  moral  sense  of  virtue  to  judge  thus ; that  in  equal  degrees  of 
happiness  expected  to  proceed  from  the  action,  the  Hrtue  is  in 
proportion  to  the  number  of  persons  to  whom  happiness  shall 
extend  (and  here  the  dignity  or  moral  importance  of  men  may 
compensate  numbers) ; and  in  equal  numbers,  the  virtue  is  as  the 
quantity  of  the  happiness  or  natural  good ; or  that  the  virtue  is  in 


FRANCIS  HUTCHESON 


416 

compound  ratio  of  the  quantity  of  good,  and  number  of  enjoyers. 
In  the  same  manner,  the  moral  evil  or  vice,  is  as  the  degree  of 
misery,  and  number  of  sufferers;  so  that,  that  action  is  best 
which  procures  the  greatest  happiness  for  the  greatest  numbers ; 
and  that  worst,  which  in  like  manner  occasions  misery. 

XI.  To  find  a universal  canon  to  compute  the  morality  of  any 
actions,  with  all  their  circumstances,  when  we  judge  of  the  ac- 
tions done  by  ourselves,  or  by  others,  we  must  observe  the  follow- 
ing propositions  or  axioms. 

1.  The  moral  importance  of  any  agent,  or  the  quantity  of  pub- 
lic good  produced  by  him,  is  in  a compound  ratio  of  his  benevo- 
lence and  abilities:  or  (by  substituting  the  initial  letters  for  the 
words, as  M= moment  of  good, and  /A=moment  of  evil)  M = B x A. 

2.  In  like  manner,  the  moment  of  private  good,  or  interest 
produced  by  any  person  to  himself,  is  in  a compound  ratio  of  his 
self-love,  and  abilities : or  (substituting  the  initial  letters)  I = S X A. 

3.  When  in  comparing  the  virtue  of  two  actions,  the  abilities 
of  the  agents  are  equal ; the  moment  of  public  good  produced  by 
them  in  like  circumstances,  is  as  the  benevolence:  or  M = Bx  i. 

4.  When  benevolence  in  two  agents  is  equal,  and  other  cir- 
cumstances alike;  the  moment  of  public  good  is  as  the  abilities; 
or  M=Ax  I. 

5.  The  virtue  then  of  agents,  or  their  benevolence,  is  always 
directly  as  the  moment  of  good  produced  in  like  circumstances, 
and  inversely  as  their  abilities:  or  B = “. 

The  applying  a mathematical  calculation  to  moral  subjects, 
will  appear  perhaps  at  first  extravagant  and  wild;  but  some 
corollaries,  which  are  easily  and  certainly  deduced  below,*  may 
show  the  conveniency  of  this  attempt,  if  it  could  be  further  pur- 
sued. At  present,  we  shall  only  draw  this  one,  which  seems  the 
most  joyful  imaginable,  even  to  the  lowest  rank  of  mankind, 
viz. ; “ that  no  external  circumstances  of  fortune,  no  involuntary 
disadvantages,  can  exclude  any  mortal  from  the  most  heroic 
virtue.”  For  how  small  soever  the  moment  of  public  good  be, 
which  any  one  can  accomplish,  yet  if  his  abilities  are  propor- 

' See  Inquiry,  Sect.  vii.  Art.  8,  9 (§§  180,  181). 


CONCERNING  GOOD  AND  EVIL 


417 


tionably  small,  the  quotient,  which  expresses  the  degree  of  virtue, 
may  be  as  great  as  any  whatsoever.  Thus,  not  only  the  prince, 
the  statesman,  the  ’general,  are  capable  of  true  heroism,  though 
these  are  the  chief  characters,  whose  fame  is  diffused  through 
nations  and  ages;  but  when  we  find  in  an  honest  trader,  the  kind 
friend,  the  faithful  prudent  adviser,  the  charitable  and  hospit- 
able neighbour,  the  tender  husband  and  affectionate  parent, 
the  sedate  yet  cheerful  companion,  the  generous  assistant  of  merit, 
the  cautious  allayer  of  contention  and  debate,  the  promoter  of 
love  and  good  understanding  among  acquaintances;  if  we  con- 
sider, that  these  were  all  the  good  offices  which  his  station  in  the 
world  gave  him  an  opportunity  of  performing  to  mankind,  we 
must  judge  this  character  really  as  amiable,  as  those,  whose  ex- 
ternal splendor  dazzles  an  injudicious  world  into  an  opinion, 
'‘that  they  are  the  only  heroes  in  virtue.” 


DAVID  HARTLEY 

( 1705-1757) 


OBSERVATIONS  ON  MAN,  HIS  FRAME, 
HIS  DUTY,  AND  HIS  EXPECTATIONS* 

PJRT  I.  INTRODUCTION 

Man  consists  of  two  parts,  body  and  mind. 

The  first  is  subjected  to  our  senses  and  inquiries,  in  the  same 
manner  as  the  other  parts  of  the  external  material  world. 

The  last  is  that  substance,  agent,  principle,  &c.  to  which  we 
refer  the  sensations,  ideas,  pleasures,  pains,  and  voluntary  mo- 
tions. 

Sensations  are  those  internal  feelings  of  the  mind,  which  arise 
from  the  impressions  made  by  external  objects  upon  the  several 
parts  of  our  bodies. 

All  our  other  internal  feelings  may  be  called  ideas.  Some  of 
these  appear  to  spring  up  in  the  mind  of  themselves,  some  are 
suggested  by  words,  others  arise  in  other  ways.  Many  writers 
comprehend  sensations  under  ideas;  but  I everywhere  use  these 
words  in  the  senses  here  ascribed  to  them. 

The  ideas  which  resemble  sensations,  are  called  ideas  of  sen- 
sation: all  the  rest  may  therefore  be  called  intellectual  ideas. 

It  will  appear  in  the  course  of  these  observations,  that  the 
ideas  of  sensation  are  the  elements  of  which  all  the  rest  are  com- 
pounded. Hence  ideas  of  sensation  may  be  termed  simple,  in- 
tellectual ones  complex. 

The  pleasures  and  pains  are  comprehended  under  the  sensa- 
tions and  ideas,  as  these  are  explained  above.  For  all  our  plea- 
sures and  pains  are  internal  feelings,  and  conversely,  all  our 
internal  feelings  seem  to  be  attended  with  some  degree  either  of 
pleasure  or  pain.  However,  I shall,  for  the  most  part,  give  the 
names  of  pleasure  and  pain  only  to  such  degrees  as  are  consider- 

* London,  1749;  2d  ed.  (with  Life),  1791 ; 6th  rev.  ed.,  1834. 


OBSERVATIONS  ON  MAN 


419 

able;  referring  all  low  evanescent  ones  to  the  head  of  mere  sensa- 
tions and  ideas. 

The  pleasures  and  pains  may  be  ranged  under  seven  general 
classes ; viz. : 

1.  Sensation; 

2.  Imagination; 

3.  Ambition; 

4.  Self-Interest; 

5.  Sympathy; 

6.  Theopathy;  and, 

7.  The  Moral  Sense; 
according  as  they  arise  from: 

1.  The  impressions  made  on  the  external  senses; 

2.  Natural  or  artificial  beauty  or  deformity; 

3.  The  opinions  of  others  concerning  us; 

4.  Our  possession  or  want  of  the  means  of  happiness,  and  secur- 
ity from,  or  subjection  to,  the  hazards  of  misery; 

5.  The  pleasures  and  pains  of  our  fellow-creatures; 

6.  The  affections  excited  in  us  by  the  contemplation  of  the 
Deity;  or 

7.  Moral  beauty  and  deformity. 


CHAPTER  /.  SECTION  II.  THE  FORMATION  OF 
COMPLEX  IDEAS  BY  ASSOCIATION 

Prop.  XII.  — Simple  Ideas  will  run  into  Complex  Ones, 
BY  Means  of  Association 

In  order  to  explain  and  prove  this  proposition,  it  will  be  requi- 
site to  give  some  previous  account  of  the  manner  in  which  sim- 
ple ideas  of  sensation  may  be  associated  together. 

Case  I.  Let  the  sensation  A be  often  associated  with  each  of 
the  sensations  B,  C,  Z>,  etc.,  i.  e.  at  certain  times  with  B,  at  cer- 
tain other  times  with  C,  etc.,  it  is  evident,  from  the  tenth  propo- 
sition, that  A,  impressed  alone,  will,  at  last,  raise  h,  c,  d,  etc.,  all 
together,  i.  e.  associate  them  with  one  another,  provided  they 


420 


DAVID  HARTLEY 


belong  to  different  regions  of  the  medullary  substance;  for  if  any 
two,  or  more,  belong  to  the  same  region,  since  they  cannot  exist 
together  in  their  distinct  forms,  A will  raise  something  inter- 
mediate between  them. 

Case  2.  If  the  sensations  A,  B,  C,  D,  etc.,  be  associated  to- 
gether, according  to  various  combinations  of  twos,  or  even  threes, 
fours,  etc.,  then  will  A raise  b,  c,  d,  etc.,  also  B raise  a,  c,  d,  etc., 
as  in  case  the  first. 

It  may  happen,  indeed,  in  both  cases,  that  A may  raise  a par- 
ticular miniature,  as  b,  preferably  to  any  of  the  rest,  from  its 
being  more  associated  with  B,  from  the  novelty  of  the  impression 
of  B,  from  a tendency  in  the  medullary  substance  to  favour  b, 
etc.,  and  in  like  manner,  that  b,  may  raise  c or  d preferably  to 
the  rest.  However,  all  this  will  be  over-ruled,  at  last,  by  the  oc- 
currency  of  the  associations;  so  that  any  one  of  the  sensations 
will  excite  the  ideas  of  the  rest  at  the  same  instant,  i.  e.  associate 
them  together. 

Case  3.  Let  A,  B,  C,  D,  etc.,  represent  successive  impressions, 
it  follows  from  the  tenth  and  eleventh  propositions,  that  A will 
raise  b,  c,  d,  etc.,  B raise  c,  d,  etc.  And  though  the  ideas  do  not, 
in  this  case,  rise  precisely  at  the  same  instant,  yet  they  come 
nearer  together  than  the  sensations  themselves  did  in  their  origi- 
nal impression;  so  that  these  ideas  are  associated  almost  syn- 
chronically  at  last,  and  successively  from  the  first.  The  ideas 
come  nearer  to  one  another  than  the  sensations,  on  account  of 
their  diminutive  nature,  by  which  all  that  appertains  to  them  is 
contracted.  And  this  seems  to  be  as  agreeable  to  observation  as 
to  theory. 

Case  4.  All  compound  impressions  A+B  + C + D,  etc.,  after 
sufficient  repetition  leave  compound  miniatures  a-{-b-\-c-{-d,  etc., 
which  recur  every  now  and  then  from  slight  causes,  as  well  such 
as  depend  on  association,  as  some  wh'ch  are  different  from  it. 
Now,  in  these  recurrences  of  compound  miniatures,  the  parts  are 
farther  associated,  and  approach  perpetually  nearer  to  each  other, 
agreeably  to  what  was  just  now  observed;  i.  e.  the  association 
becomes  perpetually  more  close  and  intimate. 

Case  5.  When  the  ideas  a,  b,  c,  d,  etc.,  have  been  sufficiently 


OBSERVATIONS  ON  MAN 


41 1 


associated  in  any  one  or  more  of  the  foregoing  ways,  if  we  sup- 
pose any  single  idea  of  these,  a for  instance,  to  be  raised  by  the 
tendency  of  the  medullary  substance  that  way,  by  the  associa- 
tion of  A with  a foreign  sensation  or  idea  X or  x,  etc.,  this  idea 
a,  thus  raised,  will  frequently  bring  in  all  the  rest,  h,  c,  d,  etc., 
and  so  associate  all  of  them  together  still  farther. 

And  upon  the  whole,  it  may  appear  to  the  reader,  that  the 
simple  ideas  of  sensation  must  run  into  clusters  and  combina- 
tions, by  association ; and  that  each  of  these  will,  at  last,  coalesce 
into  one  complex  idea,  by  the  approach  and  commixture  of  the 
several  compounding  parts. 

It  appears  also  from  observation,  that  many  of  our  intellectual 
ideas,  such  as  those  that  belong  to  the  heads  of  beauty,  honour, 
moral  qualities,  etc.,  are  in  fact,  thus  composed  of  parts,  which, 
by  degrees,  coalesce  into  one  complex  idea. 


CHAPTER  IV.  SECTION  VI.  THE  PLEASURES  AND 
PAINS  OF  THE  MORAL  SENSE 

Prop.  XCIX.  To  examine  how  far  the  Pleasures  and 
Pains  of  the  Moral  Sense  are  Agreeable  to  the 
Foregoing  Theory 

There  are  certain  tempers  of  mind,  with  the  actions  flowing 
from  them,  as  of  piety,  humility,  resignation,  gratitude,  etc., 
towards  God;  of  benevolence,  charity,  generosity,  compassion, 
humility,  gratitude,  etc.,  towards  men;  of  temperance,  patience, 
contentment,  etc.,  in  respect  of  a person’s  own  private  enjoy- 
ments or  sufferings;  which  when  he  believes  himself  to  be  pos- 
sessed of,  and  reflects  upon,  a pleasing  consciousness  and  self- 
approbation rise  up  in  his  mind,  exclusively  of  any  direct  explicit 
consideration  of  advantage  likely  to  accrue  to  himself,  from  his 
possession  of  these  good  qualities.  In  like  manner  the  view  of 
them  in  others  raises  up  a disinterested  love  and  esteem  for  these 
others.  And  the  opposite  qualities  of  impiety,  profaneness,  un- 
charitableness, resentment,  cruelty,  envy,  ingratitude,  intemper- 


422 


DAVID  HARTLEY 


ance,  lev/dness,  selfishness,  etc,,  are  attended  with  the  condemna- 
tion both  of  ourselves  and  others.  This  is,  in  general,  the  state  of 
the  case;  but  there  are  many  particular  differences,  according 
to  the  particular  education,  temper,  profession,  sex,  etc,,  of  each 
person. 

Or,  which  is  the  same  thing,  the  secondary  ideas  belonging  to 
virtue  and  vice,  duty  and  sin,  innocence  and  guilt,  merit  and 
demerit,  right  and  wrong,  moral  good  and  moral  evil,  just  and 
unjust,  fit  and  unfit,  obligation  and  prohibition,  etc,,  in  one  man, 
bear  a great  resemblance  to  those  belonging  to  the  same  words  in 
another,  or  to  the  corresponding  words,  if  they  have  different 
languages;  and  yet  do  not  exactly  coincide,  but  differ  more  or 
less,  according  to  the  difference  in  education,  temper,  etc. 

Now  both  this  general  resemblance,  and  these  particular  dif- 
ferences, in  our  ideas,  and  consequent  approbation  or  disappro- 
bation, seem  to  admit  of  an  analysis  and  explanation  from  the 
following  particulars. 

First,  Children  are,  for  the  most  part,  instructed  in  the  differ- 
ence and  opposition  between  virtue  and  vice,  duty  and  sin,  etc., 
and  have  some  general  descriptions  of  the  virtues  and  vices 
inculcated  upon  them.  They  are  told,  that  the  first  are  good, 
pleasant,  beautiful,  noble,  fit,  worthy  of  praise  and  reward,  etc. ; 
the  last  odious,  painful,  shameful,  worthy  of  punishment,  etc. ; so 
that  the  pleasing  and  displeasing  associations  previously  an- 
nexed to  these  words  in  their  minds,  are,  by  means  of  that  confi- 
dence which  they  place  in  their  superiors,  transferred  upon  the 
virtues  and  vices  respectively.  And  the  mutual  intercourses  of 
life  have  the  same  effect  in  a less  degree,  with  respect  to  adults, 
and  those  children  who  receive  little  or  no  instruction  from  their 
parents  or  superiors.  Virtue  is  in  general  approved,  and  set  off 
by  all  the  encomiums,  and  honourable  appellations,  that  any 
other  thing  admits  of,  and  vice  loaded  with  censures  and  re- 
proaches of  all  kinds,  in  all  good  conversation  and  books.  And 
this  happens  oftener  than  the  contrary,  even  in  bad  ones;  so  that 
as  far  as  men  are  influenced  in  their  judgments  by  those  of  others, 
the  balance  is,  upon  the  whole,  on  the  side  of  virtue. 

Secondly,  There  are  many  immediate  good  consequences, 


OBSERVATIONS  ON  MAN 


423 


which  attend  upon  virtue,  as  many  ill  ones  do  upon  vice,  and  that 
during  our  whole  progress  through  life.  Sensuality  and  intem- 
perance subject  men  to  diseases  and  pain,  to  shame,  deformity, 
filthiness,  terrors,  and  anxieties;  whereas  temperance  is  at- 
tended with  ease  of  body,  freedom  of  spirits,  the  capacity  of 
being  pleased  wdth  the  objects  of  pleasure,  the  good  opinion  of 
others,  the  perfection  of  the  senses,  and  of  the  faculties,  bodily 
and  mental,  long  life,  plenty,  etc.  Anger,  malice,  envy,  bring 
upon  us  the  returns  of  anger,  malice,  envy,  from  others,  with 
injuries,  reproaches,  fears,  and  perpetual  disquietude;  and,  in  like 
manner,  good-will,  generosity,  compassion,  are  rewarded  with 
returns  of  the  same,  with  the  pleasures  of  sociality  and  friendship, 
with  good  offices,  and  with  the  highest  encomiums.  And  when  a 
person  becomes  properly  qualified,  by  the  previous  love  of  his 
neighbour,  to  love  God,  to  hope  and  trust  in  him,  and  to  wor- 
ship him  in  any  measure  as  he  ought  to  do,  this  affords  the 
sincerest  joy  and  comfort;  as,  on  the  contrary,  the  neglect  of 
God,  or  practical  atheism,  the  murmuring  against  the  course  of 
providence,  sceptical  unsettledness,  and  fool-hardy  impiety,  are 
evidently  attended  with  great  anxieties,  gloominess,  and  dis- 
traction, as  long  as  there  are  any  traces  of  morality  or  religion 
left  upon  men’s  minds.  Now  these  pleasures  and  pains,  by  often 
recurring  in  various  combinations,  and  by  being  variously  trans- 
ferred upon  each  other,  from  the  great  affinity  between  the 
several  virtues,  and  their  rewards,  with  each  other ; also  between 
the  several  vices,  and  their  punishments,  with  each  other;  will 
at  last  beget  in  us  a general,  mixed,  pleasing  idea  and  conscious- 
ness, when  we  reflect  upon  our  own  virtuous  affections  or  actions ; 
a sense  of  guilt,  and  an  anxiety,  when  we  reflect  on  the  contrary ; 
and  also  raise  in  us  the  love  and  esteem  of  virtue,  and  the  hatred 
of  vice  in  others. 

Thirdly,  The  many  benefits  which  we  receive  immediately 
from,  or  which  have  some  evident,  though  distant,  connexion 
with  the  piety,  benevolence,  and  temperance  of  others;  also  the 
contrary  mischiefs  from  their  vices ; lead  us  first  to  the  love  and 
hatred  of  the  persons  themselves  by  association,  as  explained 
under  the  head  of  sympathy,  and  then  by  farther  associations  to 


424 


DAVID  HARTLEY 


the  love  and  hatred  of  the  virtues  and  vices,  considered  ab- 
stractedly, and  without  any  regard  to  our  own  interest;  and 
that  whether  we  view  them  in  ourselves  or  others.  As  our  love 
and  esteem  for  virtue  in  others  is  much  increased  by  the  pleasing 
consciousness,  which  our  own  practice  of  it  affords  to  ourselves, 
so  the  pleasure  of  this  consciousness  is  mu:h  increased  by  our 
love  of  virtue  in  others. 

Fourthly,  The  great  suitableness  of  all  the  virtues  to  each 
other,  and  to  the  beauty,  order,  and  perfection  of  the  world, 
animate  and  inanimate,  impresses  a very  lovely  character  upon 
virtue;  and  the  contrary  self-contradiction,  deformity,  and  mis- 
chievous tendency  of  vice,  render  it  odious,  and  matter  of  ab- 
horrence to  all  persons  that  reflect  upon  these  things;  and  beget 
a language  of  this  kind,  which  is  borrowed,  in  great  measure, 
from  the  pleasures  and  pains  of  imagination,  and  applied  with  a 
peculiar  force  and  fitness  to  this  subject  from  its  great  importance. 

Fifthly,  The  hopes  and  fears  which  arise  from  the  consideration 
of  a future  state,  are  themselves  pleasures  and  pains  of  a high 
nature.  When,  therefore,  a sufficient  foundation  has  been  laid 
by  a practical  belief  of  religion,  natural  and  revealed,  by  the 
frequent  view  of,  and  meditation  upon,  death,  by  the  loss  of 
departed  friends,  by  bodily  pains,  by  worldly  disappointments 
and  afflictions,  for  forming  strong  associations  of  the  pleasures  of 
these  hopes  with  duty,  and  the  pains  of  these  fears  with  sin,  the 
reiterated  impressions  of  those  associations  will  at  last  make  duty 
itself  a pleasure,  and  convert  sin  into  a pain,  giving  a lustre  and 
deformity  respectively  to  all  their  appellations;  and  that  without 
any  express  recollection  of  the  hopes  and  fears  of  another  world, 
just  as  in  other  cases  of  association. 

Sixthly,  All  meditations  upon  God,  who  is  the  inexhaustible 
fountain,  and  infinite  abyss,  of  all  perfection,  both  natural  and 
moral;  also  all  the  kinds  of  prayer,  i.  e.,  all  the  ways  of  express- 
ing our  love,'  hope,  trust,  resignation,  gratitude,  reverence,  fear, 
desire,  etc.,  towards  him;  transfer,  by  association,  all  the  perfec- 
tion, greatness,  and  gloriousness  of  his  natural  attributes  upon 
his  moral  ones,  i.  e.,  upon  moral  rectitude.  We  shall  by  this 
means  learn  to  be  merciful,  holy,  and  perfect,  because  God  is  so; 


OBSERVATIONS  ON  MAN 


425 

and  to  love  mercy,  holiness,  and  perfection,  wherever  we  see 
them. 

And  thus  we  may  perceive,  that  all  the  pleasures  and  pains  of 
sensation,  imagination,  ambition,  self-interest,  sympathy,  and 
theopathy,  as  far  as  they  are  consistent  with  one  another,  with 
the  frame  of  our  natures,  and  with  the  course  of  the  world,  beget 
in  us  a moral  sense,  and  lead  us  to  the  love  and  approbation  of 
virtue,  and  to  the  fear,  hatred,  and  abhorrence  of  vice.  This 
moral  sense  therefore  carries  its  own  authority  with  it,  inasmuch 
as  it  is  the  sum  total  of  all  the  rest,  and  the  ultimate  result  from 
them ; and  employs  the  force  and  authority  of  the  whole  nature 
of  man  against  any  particular  part  of  it,  that  rebels  against  the 
determinations  and  commands  of  the  conscience  or  moral  judg- 
ment. 

It  appears  also,  that  the  moral  sense  carries  us  perpetually  to 
the  pure  love  of  God,  as  our  highest  and  ultimate  perfection, 
our  end,  centre,  and  only  resting-place,  to  which  yet  we  can 
never  attain. 

When  the  moral  sense  is  advanced  to  considerable  perfection, 
a person  may  be  made  to  love  and  hate,  merely  because  he  ought ; 
i.  e.  the  pleasures  of  moral  beauty  and  rectitude,  and  the  pains 
of  moral  deformity  and  unfitness,  may  be  transferred,  and  made 
to  coalesce,  almost  instantaneously. 

Scrupulosity  may  be  considered  as  a degeneration  of  the  moral 
sense,  resembling  that  by  which  the  fear  of  God  passes  into 
superstition;  for  it  arises  like  this,  from  a consciousness  of  guilt, 
explicit  or  implicit,  from  bodily  indisposition,  and  from  an  erro- 
neous method  of  reasoning.  It  has  also  a most  intimate  con- 
nexion with  superstition  (just  as  moral  rectitude  has  with  the 
true  love  and  fear  of  God) : and,  like  superstition,  it  is,  in  many 
cases,  observed  to  work  its  own  cure  by  rectifying  what  is  amiss ; 
and  so  by  degrees  removing  both  the  explicit  and  implicit  con- 
sciousness of  guilt.  It  seems  also,  that  in  this  imperfect  state 
men  seldom  arrive  at  any  great  degree  of  correctness  in  their 
actions  without  some  previous  scrupulosity,  by  which  they  may 
be  led  to  estimate  the  nature  and  consequences  of  affections  and 
actions  with  care,  impartiality,  and  exactness. 


426 


DAVID  HARTLEY 


The  moral  sense  or  judgment  here  spoken  of  is  sometimes 
considered  as  an  instinct,  sometimes  as  determinations  of  the 
mind,  grounded  on  the  eternal  reasons  and  relations  of  things. 
Those  who  maintain  either  of  these  opinions  may,  perhaps, 
explain  them  so  as  to  be  consistent  with  the  foregoing  analysis  of 
the  moral  sense  from  association.  But  if  by  instinct  be  meant  a 
disposition  communicated  to  the  brain,  and  in  consequence  of 
this,  to  the  mind,  or  to  the  mind  alone,  so  as  to  be  quite  independ- 
ent of  association;  and  by  a moral  instinct,  such  a disposition 
producing  in  us  moral  judgments  concerning  affections  and 
actions;  it  will  be  necessary,  in  order  to  support  the  opinion  of  a 
moral  instinct,  to  produce  instances,  where  moral  judgments  arise 
in  us,  independently  of  prior  associations  determining  thereto. 

In  like  manner,  if  by  founding  the  morality  of  actions,  and 
our  judgment  concerning  this  morality,  on  the  eternal  reasons 
and  relations  of  things,  be  meant,  that  the  reasons  drawn  from 
the  relations  of  things,  by  which  the  morality  or  immorality  of 
certain  actions  is  commonly  proved,  and  which,  with  the  relations, 
are  called  eternal,  from  their  appearing  the  same,  or  nearly  the 
same,  to  the  mind  at  all  times,  would  determine  the  mind  to 
form  the  corresponding  moral  judgment  independently  of  prio^" 
associations,  this  ought  also  to  be  proved  by  the  allegation  of 
proper  instances.  To  me  it  appears,  that  the  instances  are,  as 
far  as  we  can  judge  of  them,  of  an  opposite  nature,  and  favour 
the  deduction  of  all  our  moral  judgments,  approbations,  and 
disapprobations,  from  association  alone.  However,  some  associa- 
tions are  formed  so  early,  repeated  so  often,  rivetted  so  strong, 
and  have  so  close  a connexion  with  the  common  nature  of 
man,  and  the  events  of  life  which  happen  to  all,  as,  in  a popular 
way  of  speaking,  to  claim  the  appellation  of  original  and  natural 
dispositions;  and  to  appear  like  instincts  when  compared  with 
dispositions  evidently  factitious;  also  like  axioms,  and  intuitive 
propositions,  eternally  true  according  to  the  usual  phrase,  when 
compared  with  moral  reasonings  of  a compound  kind.  But  I 
have  endeavoured  to  show  in  these  papers,  that  all  reasoning,  as 
well  as  affection,  is  the  mere  result  of  association. 


DAVID  HUME 

( 1711-1766 ) 

AN  ENQUIRY  CONCERNING  THE 
PRINCIPLES  OF  MORALS* 

SECTION  I.  OF  THE  GENERAL  PRINCIPLES 
OF  MORALS 

. . . Though  this  question,  concerning  the  general  princi- 
ples of  morals,  be  curious  and  important,  it  is  needless  for  us,  at 
present,  to  employ  farther  care  in  our  researches  concerning  it. 
For  if  we  can  be  so  happy,  in  the  course  of  this  enquiry,  as  to 
discover  the  true  origin  of  morals,  it  will  then  easily  appear 
how  far  either  sentiment  or  reason  enters  into  all  determinations 
of  this  nature. 

In  order  to  attain  this  purpose,  we  shall  endeavour  to  follow  a 
very  simple  method : we  shall  analyse  that  complication  of  mental 
qualities,  which  form  what,  in  common  life,  we  call  Personal 
Merit ; we  shall  consider  every  attribute  of  the  mind,  which  ren- 
ders a man  an  object  either  of  esteem  and  affection,  or  of  hatred 
and  contempt;  every  habit  or  sentiment  or  faculty,  which,  if 
ascribed  to  any  person,  implies  either  praise  or  blame,  and  may 
enter  into  any  panegyric  or  satire  of  his  character  and  manners. 
The  quick  sensibility,  which,  on  this  head,  is  so  universal  among 
mankind,  gives  a philosopher  sufficient  assurance,  that  he  can 
never  be  considerably  mistaken  in  framing  the  catalogue,  or  in- 
cur any  danger  of  misplacing  the  objects  of  his  contemplation; 
he  needs  only  enter  into  his  own  breast  for  a moment,  and  con- 
sider whether  or  not  he  should  desire  to  have  this  or  that  quality 
ascribed  to  him,  and  whether  such  or  such  an  imputation  would 
proceed  from  a friend  or  an  enemy.  The  very  nature  of  language 
guides  us  almost  infallibly  in  forming  a judgement  of  this  nature; 
and  as  every  tongue  possesses  one  set  of  words  which  are  taken 
in  a good  sense,  and  another  in  the  opposite,  the  least  acquain- 

'■i  London,  1751;  id.,  Essays,  ib.,  1898,  vol.  ii. 


DAVID  HUME 


428 

tance  with  the  idiom  suffices,  without  any  reasoning,  to  direct  us 
in  collecting  and  arranging  the  estimable  or  blameable  qualities 
of  men.  The  only  object  of  reasoning  is  to  discover  the  circum- 
stances on  both  sides,  which  are  common  to  these  qualities;  to 
observe  that  particular  in  which  the  estimable  qualities  agree  on 
the  one  hand,  and  the  blameable  on  the  other;  and  thence  to 
reach  the  foundation  of  ethics,  and  find  those  universal  princi- 
ples, from  which  all  censure  or  approbation  is  ultimately  de- 
rived. As  this  is  a question  of  fact,  not  of  abstract  science,  we 
can  only  expect  success,  by  following  the  experimental  method, 
and  deducing  general  maxims  from  a comparison  of  particular 
instances.  The  other  scientific  method,  where  a general  abstract 
principle  is  first  established,  and  is  afterwards  branched  out  into 
a variety  of  inferences  and  conclusions,  may  be  more  perfect  in 
itself,  but  suits  less  the  imperfection  of  human  nature,  and  is  a 
common  source  of  illusion  and  mistake  in  this  as  well  as  in  other 
subjects.  Men  are  not  cured  of  their  passion  for  hypotheses  and 
systems  in  natural  philosophy,  and  will  hearken  to  no  arguments 
but  those  which  are  derived  from  experience.  It  is  full  time  they 
should  attempt  a like  reformation  in  all  moral  disquisitions;  and 
reject  every  system  of  ethics,  however  subtle  or  ingenious,  which 
is  not  founded  on  fact  and  observation. 

We  shall  begin  our  enquiry  on  this  head  by  the  consideration 
of  the  social  virtues.  Benevolence  and  Justice.  The  explication 
of  them  will  probably  give  us  an  opening  by  which  the  others  may 
be  accounted  for. 


SECTION  II.  OF  BENEVOLENCE 
Part  I 

It  may  be  esteemed,  perhaps,  a superfluous  task  to  prove,  that 
the  benevolent  or  softer  affections  are  estimable;  and  wherever 
they  appear,  engage  the  approbation  and  good-will  of  mankind. 
The  epithets  sociable,  good-natured,  humane,  merciful,  grateful, 
friendly,  generous,  beneficent,  or  their  equivalents,  are  known  in 
all  languages,  and  universally  express  the  highest  merit  which 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  MORALS 


429 


human  nature  is  capable  of  attaining.  Where  these  amiable  qual- 
ities are  attended  with  birth  and  power  and  eminent  abilities, 
and  display  themselves  in  the  good  government  or  useful  instruc- 
tion of  mankind,  they  seem  even  to  raise  the  possessors  of  them 
above  the  rank  of  human  nature,  and  make  them  approach  in 
some  measure  to  the  divine.  Exalted  capacity,  undaunted  cour- 
age, prosperous  success;  these  may  only  expose  a hero  or  politi- 
cian to  the  envy  and  ill-will  of  the  public:  but  as  soon  as  the 
praises  are  added  of  humane  and  beneficent ; when  instances  are 
displayed  of  lenity,  tenderness,  or  friendship,  envy  itself  is  silent, 
or  joins  the  general  voice  of  approbation  and  applause. 

When  Pericles,  the  great  Athenian  statesman  and  general, 
was  on  his  death-bed,  his  surrounding  friends,  deeming  him  now 
insensible,  began  to  indulge  their  sorrow  for  their  expiring  pa- 
tron, by  enumerating  his  great  qualities  and  successes,  his  con- 
quests and  victories,  the  unusual  length  of  his  administration, 
and  his  nine  trophies  erected  over  the  enemies  of  the  republic. 
You  forget,  cries  the  dying  hero,  who  had  heard  all,  you  forget  the 
most  eminent  of  my  praises,  while  you  dwell  so  much  on  those 
vulgar  advantages,  in  which  fortune  had  a principal  share.  You 
have  not  observed  that  no  citizen  has  ever  yet  worn  mourning  on 
my  account.'- 

In  men  of  more  ordinary  talents  and  capacity,  the  social  vir- 
tues become,  if  possible,  still  more  essentially  requisite;  there 
being  nothing  eminent,  in  that  case,  to  compensate  for  the  want 
of  them,  or  preserve  the  person  from  our  severest  hatred  as  well 
as  contempt.  A high  ambition,  an  elevated  courage,  is  apt,  says 
Cicero,  in  less  perfect  characters,  to  degenerate  into  a turbulent 
ferocity.  The  more  social  and  softer  virtues  are  there  chiefly  to 
be  regarded.  These  are  always  good  and  amiable.^ 

The  principal  advantage,  which  Juvenal  discovers  in  the  ex- 
tensive capacity  of  the  human  species,  is  that  it  renders  our  be- 
nevolence also  more  extensive,  and  gives  us  larger  opportunities 
of  spreading  our  kindly  influence  than  what  are  indulged  to  the 
inferior  creation.®  It  must,  indeed,  be  confessed,  that  by  doing 

^ Plut.  Zn  Periclen.  ^ Cic.  De  Officiis,  lib.  i. 

’ Sat.  XV.  139  et  seq. 


430 


DAVID  HUME 


good  only,  can  a man  truly  enjoy  the  advantages  of  being  emi' 
nent.  His  exalted  station  of  itself  but  the  more  exposes  him  to 
danger  and  tempest.  His  sole  prerogative  is  to  afford  shelter 
to  inferiors,  who  repose  themselves  under  his  cover  and  protec- 
tion. 

But  I forget,  that  it  is  not  my  present  business  to  recommend 
generosity  and  benevolence,  or  to  paint,  in  their  true  colours,  all 
the  genuine  charms  of  the  social  virtues.  These,  indeed,  suffi- 
ciently engage  every  heart,  on  the  first  apprehension  of  them; 
and  it  is  difficult  to  abstain  from  some  sally  of  panegyric,  as  often 
as  they  occur  in  discourse  or  reasoning.  But  our  object  here 
being  more  the  speculative,  than  the  practical  part  of  morals,  it 
will  suffice  to  remark  (what  will  readily,  I believe,  be  allowed) 
that  no  qualities  are  more  entitled  to  the  general,  '^j^d-will 
and  approbation  of  mankind  than  beneficence  and  humanity, 
friendship  and  gratitude,  natural  affection  and  public  spirit,  or 
whatever  proceeds  from  a tender  sympathy  with  others,  and  a 
generous  concern  for  our  kind  and  species.  These  wherever  they 
appear,  seem  to  transfuse  themselves,  in  a manner,  into  each 
beholder,  and  to  call  forth,  in  their  own  behalf,  the  same  favour- 
able and  affectionate  sentiments,  which  they  exert  on  all  around. 

Part  II 

We  may  observe  that,  in  displaying  the  praises  of  any  humane, 
beneficent  man,  there  is  one  circumstance  which  never  fails  to  be 
amply  insisted  on,  namely,  the  happiness  and  satisfaction,  de- 
rived to  society  from  his  intercourse  and  good  offices.  To  his 
parents,  we  are  apt  to  say,  he  endears  himself  by  his  pious  at- 
tachment and  duteous  care  still  more  than  by  the  connexions  of 
nature.  His  children  never  feel  his  authority,  but  when  employed 
for  their  advantage.  With  him,  the  ties  of  love  are  consolidated 
by  beneficence  and  friendship.  The  ties  of  friendship  approach, 
in  a fond  observance  of  each  obliging  office,  to  those  of  love  and 
inclination.  His  domestics  and  dependants  have  in  him.  a sure 
resource ; and  no  longer  dread  the  power  of  fortune,  but  so  far  as 
she  exercises  it  over  him.  From  him  the  hungry  receive  food,  the 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  MORALS 


431 


naked  clothing,  the  ignorant  and  slothful  skill  and  industry. 
Like  the  sun,  an  inferior  minister  of  providence,  he  cheers, 
invigorates,  and  sustains  the  surrounding  world. 

If  confined  to  private  life,  the  sphere  of  his  activity  is  nar- 
rower; but  his  influence  is  all  benign  and  gentle.  If  exalted  into 
a higher  station,  mankind  and  posterity  reap  the  fruit  of  his 
labours. 

As  these  topics  of  praise  never  fail  to  be  employed,  and  with 
success,  where  we  would  inspire  esteem  for  any  one;  may  it  not 
thence  be  concluded,  that  the  utility,  resulting  from  the  social 
virtues,  forms,  at  least,  a part  of  their  merit,  and  is  one  source  of 
that  approbation  and  regard  so  universally  paid  to  them  ? 

Then  we  recommend  even  an  animal  or  a plant  as  useful  and 
beneficial^  we  give  it  an  applause  and  recommendation  suited  to 
its  nature.  As,  on  the  other  hand,  reflection  on  the  baneful  in- 
fluence of  any  of  these  inferior  beings  always  inspires  us  with  the 
sentiment  of  aversion.  The  eye  is  pleased  with  the  prospect  of 
corn-fields  and  loaded  vineyards;  horses  grazing,  and  flocks 
pasturing:  but  flies  the  view  of  briars  and  brambles,  affording 
shelter  to  wolves  and  serpents. 

A machine,  a piece  of  furniture,  a vestment,  a house  well  con- 
trived for  use  and  conveniency,  is  so  far  beautiful,  and  is  con- 
templated with  pleasure  and  approbation.  An  experienced  eye 
is  here  sensible  to  many  excellencies,  which  escape  persons  ig- 
norant and  uninstructed. 

Can  anything  stronger  be  said  in  praise  of  a profession,  such 
as  merchandize  or  manufacture,  than  to  observe  the  advantages 
which  it  procures  to  society;  and  is  not  a monk  and  inquisitor 
enraged  when  we  treat  his  order  as  useless  or  pernicious  to  man- 
kind? 

The  historian  exults  in  displaying  the  benefit  arising  from  his 
labours.  The  writer  of  romance  alleviates  or  denies  the  bad 
consequences  ascribed  to  his  manner  of  composition. 

In  general,  what  praise  is  implied  in  the  simple  epithet  useful! 
What  reproach  in  the  contrary! 

Your  Gods,  says  Cicero, ‘ in  opposition  to  the  Epicureans, 

* De  Nat.  Dear.,  lib.  i. 


432 


DAVID  HUME 


cannot  justly  claim  any  worship  or  adoration,  with  whatever 
imaginary  perfections  you  may  suppose  them  endowed.  They 
are  totally  useless  and  inactive.  Even  the  Egyptians,  whom  you 
so  much  ridicule,  never  consecrated  any  animal  but  on  account 
of  its  utility. 

The  sceptics  assert,*  though  absurdly,  that  the  origin  of  all 
religious  worship  was  derived  from  the  utility  of  inanimate  ob- 
jects, as  the  sun  and  moon,  to  the  support  and  well-being  of 
mankind.  This  is  also  the  common  reason  assigned  by  historians, 
for  the  deification  of  eminent  heroes  and  legislators. 

To  plant  a tree,  to  cultivate  a field,  to  beget  children;  meritori- 
ous acts,  according  to  the  religion  of  Zoroaster. 

In  all  determinations  of  morality,  this  circumstance  of  public 
utility  is  ever  principally  in  view;  and  wherever  disputes  arise, 
either  in  philosophy  or  common  life,  concerning  the  bounds  of 
duty,  the  question  cannot,  by  any  means,  be  decided  with 
greater  certainty,  than  by  ascertaining,  on  any  side,  the  true  in- 
terests of  mankind.  If  any  false  opinion,  embraced  from  ap- 
pearances, has  been  found  to  prevail ; as  soon  as  farther  experi- 
ence and  sounder  reasoning  have  given  us  juster  notions  of 
human  affairs,  we  retract  our  first  sentiment,  and  adjust  anew 
the  boundaries  of  moral  good  and  evil. 

Giving  alms  to  common  beggars  is  naturally  praised;  because 
it  seems  to  carry  relief  to  the  distressed  and  indigent : but  when 
we  observe  the  encouragement  thence  arising  to  idleness  and 
debauchery,  we  regard  that  species  of  charity  rather  as  a weak- 
ness than  a virtue. 

Upon  the  whole,  then,  it  seems  undeniable,  that  nothing  can 
bestow  more  merit  on  any  human  creature  than  the  sentiment 
of  benevolence  in  an  eminent  degree;  and  that  a part,  at  least, 
of  its  merit  arises  from  its  tendency  to  promote  the  interests  of 
our  species,  and  bestow  happiness  on  human  society.  We  carry 
our  view  into  the  salutary  consequences  of  such  a character  and 
disposition;  and  whatever  has  so  benign  an  influence,  and  for- 
wards so  desirable  an  end,  is  beheld  with  complacency  and 
pleasure.  The  social  virtues  are  never  regarded  without  their 

^ Sext.  Emp.  adversus  Math.,  lib.  viii. 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  MORALS 


433 


beneficial  tendencies,  nor  viewed  as  barren  and  unfruitful.  The 
happiness  of  mankind,  the  order  of  society,  the  harmony  of 
families,  the  mutual  support  of  friends,  are  always  considered  as 
the  result  of  their  gentle  dominion  over  the  breasts  of  men. 


SECTION  III.  OF  JUSTICE 
Part  I 

That  Justice  is  useful  to  society,  and  consequently  that  part  of 
its  merit,  at  least,  must  arise  from  that  consideration,  it  would  be 
a superfluous  undertaking  to  prove.  That  public  utility  is  the  sole 
origin  of  justice,  and  that  reflections  on  the  beneficial  conse- 
quences of  this  virtue  are  the  sole  foundation  of  its  merit;  this 
proposition,  being  more  curious  and  important,  will  better  de- 
serve our  examination  and  enquiry. 

Let  us  suppose  that  nature  has  bestowed  on  the  human  race 
such  profuse  abundance  of  all  external  conveniencies,  that,  with- 
out any  uncertainty  in  the  event,  without  any  care  or  indus- 
try on  our  part,  every  individual  finds  himself  fully  provided 
with  whatever  his  most  voracious  appetites  can  want,  or 
luxurious  imagination  wish  or  desire.  His  natural  beauty,  we 
shall  suppose,  surpasses  all  acquired  ornaments:  the  perpetual 
clemency  of  the  seasons  renders  useless  all  clothes  or  covering : 
the  raw  herbage  affords  him  the  most  delicious  fare ; the  clear 
fountain,  the  richest  beverage.  No  laborious  occupation  re- 
quired : no  tillage : no  navigation.  Music,  poetry,  and  con- 
templation form  his  sole  business:  conversation,  mirth,  and 
friendship  his  sole  amusement. 

It  seems  evident  that,  in  such  a happy  state,  every  other  social 
virtue  would  flourish,  and  receive  tenfold  increase;  but  the  cau- 
tious, jealous  virtue  of  justice  would  never  once  have  been 
dreamed  of.  For  what  purpose  make  a partition  of  goods,  where 
every  one  has  already  more  than  enough?  Why  give  rise  to 
property,  where  there  cannot  possibly  be  any  injury?  Why  call 
this  object  mine,  when  upon  the  seizing  of  it  by  another,  I need 
but  stretch  out  my  hand  to  possess  myself  of  what  is  equally 


434 


DAVID  HUME 


valuable  ? Justice,  in  that  case,  being  totally  useless,  would  be 
an  idle  ceremonial,  and  could  never  possibly  have  place  in  the 
catalogue  of  virtues. 

We  see,  even  in  the  present  necessitous  condition  of  mankind, 
that,  wherever  any  benefit  is  bestowed  by  nature  in  an  unlimited 
abundance,  we  leave  it  always  in  common  among  the  whole 
human  race,  and  make  no  subdivisions  of  right  and  property. 
Water  and  air,  though  the  most  necessary  of  all  objects,  are  not 
challenged  as  the  property  of  individuals ; nor  can  any  man  com- 
mit injustice  by  the  most  lavish  use  and  enjoyment  of  these 
blessings.  In  fertile  extensive  countries,  with  few  inhabitants, 
land  is  regarded  on  the  same  footing.  And  no  topic  is  so  much 
insisted  on  by  those,  who  defend  the  liberty  of  the  seas,  as  the 
unexhausted  use  of  them  in  navigation.  Were  the  advantages, 
procured  by  navigation,  as  inexhaustible,  these  reasoners  had 
never  had  any  adversaries  to  refute;  nor  had  any  claims  ever 
been  advanced  of  a separate,  exclusive  dominion  over  the 
ocean. 

It  may  happen,  in  some  countries,  at  some  periods,  that  there 
be  established  a property  in  water,  none  in  land;  ‘ if  the  latter 
be  in  greater  abundance  than  can  be  used  by  the  inhabitants, 
and  the  former  be  found,  with  difficulty,  and  in  very  small  quan- 
tities. 

Again ; suppose,  that,  though  the  necessities  of  the  human  race 
continue  the  same  as  at  present,  yet  the  mind  is  so  enlarged,  and 
so  replete  with  friendship  and  generosity,  that  every  man  has  the 
utmost  tenderness  for  every  man,  and  feels  no  more  concern  for 
his  own  interest  than  for  that  of  his  fellows;  it  seems  evident,  that 
the  use  of  justice  would,  in  this  case,  be  suspended  by  such  an 
extensive  benevolence,  nor  w'ould  the  divisions  and  barriers  of 
property  and  obligation  have  ever  been  thought  of.  Why  should 
I bind  another,  by  a deed  or  promise,  to  do  me  any  good  office, 
when  I know  that  he  is  already  prompted,  by  the  strongest  in- 
clination, to  seek  my  happiness,  and  would,  of  himself,  perform 
the  desired  service;  except  the  hurt,  he  thereby  receives,  be 
greater  than  the  benefit  accruing  to  me  ? in  which  case,  he  knows, 

* Genesis,  xiii  and  xxi. 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  MORALS 


435 


that,  from  my  innate  humanity  and  friendship,  I should  be  the 
first  to  oppose  myself  to  his  imprudent  generosity.  Why  raise 
land-marks  between  my  neighbour’s  field  and  mine,  when  my 
heart  has  made  no  division  between  our  interests ; but  shares  all 
his  joys  and  sorrows  with  the  same  force  and  vivacity  as  if  origi- 
nally my  own  ? Every  man,  upon  this  supposition,  being  a sec- 
ond self  to  another,  would  trust  all  his  interests  to  the  discretion 
of  every  man;  without  jealousy,  without  partition,  without  dis- 
tinction. And  the  whole  human  race  would  form  only  one  family ; 
where  all  would  lie  in  common,  and  be  used  freely,  without  re- 
gard to  property;  but  cautiously  too,  with  as  entire  regard  to  the 
necessities  of  each  individual,  as  if  our  own  interests  were  most 
intimately  concerned. 

In  the  present  disposition  of  the  human  heart,  it  would,  per- 
haps, be  difficult  to  find  complete  instances  of  such  enlarged 
affections;  but  still  we  may  observe,  that  the  case  of  families 
approaches  towards  it ; and  the  stronger  the  mutual  benevolence 
is  among  the  individuals,  the  nearer  it  approaches;  till  all  dis- 
tinction of  property  be,  in  a great  measure,  lost  and  confounded 
among  them.  Between  married  persons,  the  cement  of  friendship 
is  by  the  laws  supposed  so  strong  as  to  abolish  all  division  of 
possessions;  and  has  often,  in  reality,  the  force  ascribed  to  it. 
And  it  is  observable,  that,  during  the  ardour  of  new  enthusiasms, 
when  every  principle  is  inflamed  into  extravagance,  the  com- 
munity of  goods  has  frequently  been  attempted;  and  nothing 
but  experience  of  its  inconveniencies,  from  the  returning  or  dis- 
guised selfishness  of  men,  could  make  the  imprudent  fanatics 
adopt  anew  the  ideas  of  justice  and  of  separate  property.  So 
true  is  it,  that  this  virtue  derives  its  existence  entirely  from  its 
necessary  use  to  the  intercourse  and  social  state  of  mankind. 

To  make  this  truth  more  evident,  let  us  reverse  the  foregoing 
suppositions;  and  carrying  everything  to  the  opposite  extreme, 
consider  what  would  be  the  effect  of  these  new  situations.  Sup- 
pose a society  to  fall  into  such  want  of  all  common  necessaries, 
that  the  utmost  frugality  and  industry  cannot  preserve  the 
greater  number  from  perishing,  and  the  whole  from  extreme 
misery;  it  will  readily,  I believe,  be  admitted,  that  the  strict  laws 


DAVID  HUME 


436 

of  justice  are  suspended,  in  such  a pressing  emergence,  and  give 
place  to  the  stronger  motives  of  necessity  and  self-preservation. 
Is  it  any  crime,  after  a shipwreck,  to  seize  whatever  means  or 
instrument  of  safety  one  can  lay  hold  of,  without  regard  to  for- 
mer limitations  of  property  ? Or  if  a city  besieged  were  perishing 
with  hunger;  can  we  imagine,  that  men  will  see  any  means  of 
preservation  before  them,  and  lose  their  lives,  from  a scrupulous 
regard  to  what,  in  other  situations,  would  be  the  rules  of  equity 
and  justice?  The  use  and  tendency  of  that  virtue  is  to  procure 
happiness  and  security,  by  preserving  order  in  society:  but 
where  the  society  is  ready  to  perish  from  extreme  necessity,  no 
greater  evil  can  be  dreaded  from  violence  and  injustice;  and 
every  man  may  now  provide  for  himself  by  all  the  means  which 
prudence  can  dictate,  or  humanity  permit.  The  public,  even  in 
less  urgent  necessities,  opens  granaries,  without  the  consent  of 
proprietors;  as  justly  supposing,  that  the  authority  of  magis- 
tracy may,  consistent  with  equity,  extend  so  far : but  were  any 
number  of  men  to  assemble,  without  the  tie  of  laws  or  civil  juris- 
diction; would  an  equal  partition  of  bread  in  a famine,  though 
effected  by  power  and  even  violence,  be  regarded  as  criminal 
or  injurious? 

Suppose  likewise,  that  it  should  be  a virtuous  man’s  fate  to 
fall  into  the  society  of  ruffians,  remote  from  the  protection  of 
laws  and  government;  what  conduct  must  he  embrace  in  that 
melancholy  situation  ? He  sees  such  a desperate  rapaciousness 
prevail;  such  a disregard  to  equity,  such  contempt  of  order,  such 
stupid  blindness  to  future  consequences,  as  must  immediately 
have  the  most  tragical  conclusion,  and  must  terminate  in  de- 
struction to  the  greater  number,  and  in  a total  dissolution  of 
society  to  the  rest.  He,  meanwhile,  can  have  no  other  expedient 
than  to  arm  himself,  to  whomever  the  sword  he  seizes,  or  the 
buckler,  may  belong : To  make  provis'on  of  all  means  of  defence 
and  security : And  his  particular  regard  to  justice  being  no  longer 
of  use  to  his  own  safety  or  that  of  others,  he  must  consult  the 
dictates  of  self-preservation  alone,  without  concern  for  those  who 
no  longer  merit  his  care  and  attention. 

When  any  man,  even  in  political  society,  renders  himself  by 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  MORALS 


437 


his  crimes,  obnoxious  to  the  public,  he  is  punished  by  the  laws  in 
his  goods  and  person;  that  is,  the  ordinary  rules  of  justice  are, 
with  regard  to  him,  suspended  for  a moment,  and  it  becomes 
equitable  to  inflict  on  him,  for  the  benefit  of  society,  what  other- 
wise he  could  not  suffer  without  wrong  or  injury. 

The  rage  and  violence  of  public  war ; what  is  it  but  a suspen- 
sion of  justice  among  the  warring  parties,  who  perceive,  that 
this  virtue  is  now  no  longer  of  any  use  or  advantage  to  them  ? 
The  laws  of  war,  which  then  succeed  to  those  of  equity  and  jus- 
tice, are  rules  calculated  for  the  advantage  and  utility  of  that  par- 
ticular state,  in  which  men  are  now  placed.  And  were  a civilized 
nation  engaged  with  barbarians,  who  observed  no  rules  even  of 
war,  the  former  must  also  suspend  their  observance  of  them, 
where  they  no  longer  serve  to  any  purpose;  and  must  render 
every  action  or  rencounter  as  bloody  and  pernicious  as  possible 
to  the  first  aggressors. 

Thus,  the  rules  of  equity  or  justice  depend  entirely  on  the 
particular  state  and  condition  in  which  men  are  placed,  and  owe 
their  origin  and  existence  to  that  utility,  which  results  to  the 
public  from  their  strict  and  regular  observance.  Reverse,  in  any 
considerable  circumstance,  the  condition  of  men : Produce  ex- 
treme abundance  or  extreme  necessity;  Implant  in  the  human 
breast  perfect  moderation  and  humanity,  or  perfect  rapacious- 
ness and  malice ; By  rendering  justice  totally  useless,  you  thereby 
totally  destroy  its  essense,  and  suspend  its  obligation  upon  man- 
kind. 

The  common  situation  of  society  is  a medium  amidst  all  these 
extremes.  We  are  naturally  partial  to  ourselves,  and  to  our 
friends;  but  are  capable  of  learning  the  advantage  resulting 
from  a more  equitable  conduct.  Few  enjoyments  are  given  us 
from  the  open  and  liberal  hand  of  nature;  but  by  art,  labour,  and 
industry,  we  can  extract  them  in  great  abundance.  Hence  the 
ideas  of  property  become  necessary  in  all  civil  society:  Hence 
justice  derives  its  usefulness  to  the  public:  And  hence  alone 
arises  its  merit  and  moral  obligation. 


438 


DAVID  HUME 


SECTION  IX.  PERSONJL  MERIT 

It  may  justly  appear  surprising  that  any  man  in  so  late  an  age, 
should  find  it  requisite  to  prove,  by  elaborate  reasoning,  that 
Personal  Merit  consists  altogether  in  the  possession  of  mental 
qualities,  useful  or  agreeable  to  the  person  himself  or  to  others. 
It  might  be  expected  that  this  principle  would  have  occurred 
even  to  the  first  rude,  unpractised  enquirers  concerning  morals, 
and  been  received  from  its  own  evidence,  without  any  argument 
or  disputation.  Whatever  is  valuable  in  any  kind,  so  naturally 
classes  itself  under  the  division  of  useful  or  agreeable,  the  utile 
or  the  duke,  that  it  is  not  easy  to  imagine  why  we  should  ever 
seek  further,  or  consider  the  question  as  a matter  of  nice  research 
or  enquiry.  And  as  everything  useful  or  agreeable  must  possess 
these  qualities  with  regard  either  to  the  person  himself  or  to 
others,  the  complete  delineation  or  description  of  merit  seems  to 
be  performed  as  naturally  as  a shadow  is  cast  by  the  sun,  or  an 
image  is  reflected  upon  water.  If  the  ground,  on  which  the 
shadow  is  cast,  be  not  broken  and  uneven;  nor  the  surface  from 
which  the  image  is  reflected,  disturbed  and  confused;  a just 
figure  is  immediately  presented,  without  any  art  or  attention. 
And  it  seems  a reasonable  presumption,  that  systems  and  hypo- 
theses have  perverted  our  natural  understanding,  when  a theory, 
so  simple  and  obvious,  could  so  long  have  escaped  the  most 
elaborate  e.xamination. 

But  however  the  case  may  have  fared  with  philosophy,  in 
common  life  these  principles  are  still  implicitly  maintained;  nor 
is  any  other  topic  of  praise  or  blame  ever  recurred  to,  when  we 
employ  any  panegyric  or  satire,  any  applause  or  censure  of 
human  action  and  behaviour.  If  we  observe  men,  in  every  inter- 
course of  business  or  pleasure,  in  every  discourse  and  conversa- 
tion, we  shall  find  them  nowhere,  except  in  the  schools,  at  any 
loss  upon  this  subject.  What  so  natural,  for  instance,  as  the 
following  dialogue?  You  are  very  happy,  we  shall  suppose  one 
to  say,  addressing  himself  to  another,  that  you  have  given  your 
daughter  to  Cleanthes.  He  is  a man  of  honour  and  humanity. 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  MORALS 


439 


Every  one,  who  has  any  intercourse  with  him,  is  sure  of  fair  and 
kind  treatment/  I congratulate  you  too,  says  another,  on  the 
promising  expectations  of  this  son-in-law ; whose  assiduous  ap- 
plication to  the  study  of  the  laws,  whose  quick  penetration  and 
early  knowledge  both  of  men  and  business,  prognosticate  the 
greatest  honours  and  advancement/  You  surprise  me,  replies 
a third,  when  you  talk  of  Cleanthes  as  a man  of  business  and 
application.  I met  him  lately  in  a circle  of  the  gayest  company, 
and  he  was  the  very  life  and  soul  of  our  conversation : so  much 
wit  with  good  manners,  so  much  gallantry  without  affectation; 
so  much  ingenious  knowledge  so  genteelly  delivered,  I have 
never  before  observed  in  any  one.^  You  would  admire  him  still 
more,  says  a fourth,  if  you  knew  him  more  familiarly.  That 
cheerfulness,  which  you  might  remark  in  him,  is  not  a sudden 
flash  struck  out  by  company : it  runs  through  the  whole  tenor  of 
his  life,  and  preserves  a perpetual  serenity  on  his  countenance, 
and  tranquillity  in  his  soul.  He  has  met  with  severe  trials,  mis- 
fortunes as  well  as  dangers;  and  by  his  greatness  of  mind,  was 
still  superior  to  all  of  them.^  The  image,  gentlemen,  which  you 
have  here  delineated  of  Cleanthes,  cried  I,  is  that  of  accom- 
plished merit.  Each  of  you  has  given  a stroke  of  the  pencil  to 
his  figure;  and  you  have  unawares  exceeded  all  the  pictures 
drawn  by  Gratian  or  Castiglione.  A philosopher  might  select 
this  character  as  a model  of  perfect  virtue. 

And  as  every  quality  which  is  useful  or  agreeable  to  ourselves 
or  others  is,  in  common  life,  allowed  to  be  a part  of  personal 
merit;  so  no  other  will  ever  be  received,  where  men  judge  of 
things  by  their  natural,  unprejudiced  reason,  without  the  de- 
lusive glosses  of  superstition  and  false  religion.  Celibacy,  fast- 
ing, penance,  mortification,  self-denial,  humility,  silence,  soli- 
tude, and  the  whole  train,  of  monkish  virtues ; for  what  reason 
are  they  everywhere  rejected  by  men  of  sense,  but  because 
they  serve  to  no  manner  of  purpose ; neither  advance  a man’s 

' Qualities  useful  to  others. 

^ Qualities  useful  to  the  person  himself. 

* Qualities  immediately  agreeable  to  others. 

* Qualities  immediately  agreeable  to  the  person  himself. 


440 


DAVID  HUME 


fortune  in  the  world,  nor  render  him  a more  valuable  member 
of  society ; neither  qualify  him  for  the  entertainment  of  company, 
nor  increase  his  power  of  self-enjoyment?  We  observe,  on  the 
contrary,  that  they  cross  all  these  desirable  ends;  stupefy  the 
understanding  and  harden  the  heart,  obscure  the  fancy  and  sour 
the  temper.  We  justly,  therefore,  transfer  them  to  the  opposite 
column,  and  place  them  in  the  catalogue  of  vices;  nor  has  any 
superstition  force  sufficient  among  men  of  the  world,  to  pervert 
entirely  these  natural  sentiments.  A gloomy,  hair-brained  en- 
thusiast, after  his  death,  may  have  a place  in  the  calendar;  but 
will  scarcely  ever  be  admitted,  when  alive,  into  intimacy  and 
society,  except  by  those  who  are  as  delirious  and  dismal  as 
himself. 

It  seems  a happiness  in  the  present  theory,  that  it  enters  not 
into  that  vulgar  dispute  concerning  the  degrees  of  benevolence 
or  self-love,  which  prevail  in  human  nature ; a dispute  which  is 
never  likely  to  have  any  issue,  both  because  men,  who  have 
taken  part,  are  not  easily  convinced,  and  because  the  phenomena, 
which  can  be  produced  on  either  side,  are  so  dispersed,  so  uncer- 
tain, and  subject  to  so  many  interpretations,  that  it  is  scarcely 
possible  accurately  to  compare  them,  or  draw  from  them  any 
determinate  inference  or  conclusion.  It  is  sufficient  for  our  pre- 
sent purpose,  if  it  be  allowed,  what  surely,  without  the  greatest 
absurdity  cannot  be  disputed,  that  there  is  some  benevolence, 
however  small,  infused  into  our  bosom ; some  spark  of  friend- 
ship for  human  kind;  some  particle  of  the  dove  kneaded  into 
our  frame,  along  with  the  elements  of  the  wolf  and  serpent. 
Let  these  generous  sentiments  be  supposed  ever  so  weak;  let 
them  be  insufficient  to  move  even  a hand  or  finger  of  our  body, 
they  must  still  direct  the  determinations  of  our  mind,  and  where 
everything  else  is  equal,  produce  a cool  preference  of  what  is 
useful  and  serviceable  to  mankind,  above  what  is  pernicious  and 
dangerous.  A moral  distinction,  therefore,  immediately  arises; 
a general  sentiment  of  blame  and  approbation;  a tendency,  how- 
ever faint,  to  the  objects  of  the  one,  and  a proportionable  aver- 
sion to  those  of  the  other.  Nor  will  those  reasoners,  who  so 
earnestly  maintain  the  predominant  selfishness  of  human  kind. 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  MORALS 


441 


be  any  wise  scandalized  at  hearing  of  the  weak  sentiments  of 
virtue  implanted  in  our  nature.  On  the  contrary,  they  are  found 
as  ready  to  maintain  the  one  tenet  as  the  other;  and  their  spirit 
of  satire  (for  such  it  appears,  rather  than  of  corruption)  natu- 
rally gives  rise  to  both  opinions ; which  have,  indeed,  a great 
and  almost  an  indissoluble  connexion  together. 

Avarice,  ambition,  vanity,  and  all  passions  vulgarly,  though 
improperly,  comprised  under  the  denomination  of  self-love,  are 
here  excluded  from  our  theory  concernmg  the  origin  of  morals, 
not  because  they  are  too  weak,  but  because  they  have  not  a proper 
direction  for  that  purpose.  The  notion  of  morals  implies  some 
sentiment  common  to  all  mankind,  which  recommends  the  same 
object  to  general  approbation,  and  makes  every  man,  or  most 
men,  agree  in  the  same  opinion  or  decision  concerning  it.  It  also 
implies  some  sentiment,  so  universal  and  comprehensive  as  to 
extend  to  all  mankind,  and  render  the  actions  and  conduct, 
even  of  the  persons  the  most  remote,  an  object  of  applause  or 
censure,  according  as  they  agree  or  disagree  with  that  rule  ©f 
right  which  is  established.  These  two  requisite  circumstances 
belong  alone  to  the  sentiment  of  humanity  here  insisted  on.  The 
other  passions  produce  in  every  breast,  many  strong  sentiments 
of  desire  and  aversion,  affection  and  hatred;  but  these  neither 
are  felt  so  much  in  common,  nor  are  so  comprehensive,  as  to  be 
the  foundation  of  any  general  system  and  established  theory  of 
blame  or  approbation. 


But,  that  we  may  accommodate  matters,  and  remove  if  pos- 
sible every  difficulty,  let  us  allow  all  these  reasonings  to  be  false. 
Let  us  allow  that,  when  we  resolve  the  pleasure,  which  arises 
from  views  of  utility,  into  the  sentiments  of  human'ty  and 
sympathy,  we  have  embraced  a wrong  hypothesis.  Let  us 
confess  it  necessary  to  find  some  other  explication  of  that  ap- 
plause, which  is  paid  to  objects,  whether  inanimate,  an'mate,  or 
rational,  if  they  have  a tendency  to  promote  the  welfare  and  ad- 
vantage of  mankind.  However  difficult  it  be  to  conceive  that  an 
object  is  approved  of  on  account  of  its  tendency  to  a certain 
end,  while  the  end  itself  is  totally  indifferent : let  us  swallow  this 


442 


DAVID  HUME 


absurdity,  and  consider  what  are  the  consequences.  The  preced- 
ing delineation  or  definition  of  Personal  Merit  must  still  retain  its 
evidence  and  authority : it  must  still  be  allowed  that  every  quality 
of  the  mind,  which  is  useful  or  agreeable  to  the  person  himself  or 
to  others,  communicates  a pleasure  to  the  spectator,  engages  his 
esteem,  and  is  admitted  under  the  honourable  denomination  of 
virtue  or  merit.  Are  not  justice,  fidelity,  honour,  veracity,  alle- 
giance, chastity,  esteemed  solely  on  account  of  their  tendency  to 
promote  the  good  of  society  ? Is  not  that  tendency  inseparable 
from  humanity,  benevolence,  lenity,  generosity,  gratitude,  mod- 
eration, tenderness,  friendship,  and  all  the  other  social  virtues? 
Can  it  possibly  be  doubted  that  industry,  discretion,  frugality, 
secrecy,  order,  perseverance,  forethought,  judgement,  and  this 
whole  class  of  virtues  and  accomplishments,  of  which  many 
pages  would  not  contain  the  catalogue;  can  it  be  doubted,  I say, 
that  the  tendency  of  these  qualities  to  promote  the  interest  and 
happiness  of  their  possessor,  is  the  sole  foundation  of  their  merit  ? 
Who  can  dispute  that  a mind,  which  supports  a perpetual  seren- 
ity and  cheerfulness,  a noble  dignity  and  undaunted  spirit,  a 
tender  affection  and  good-will  to  all  around;  as  it  has  more 
enjoyment  within  itself,  is  also  a more  animating  and  rejoicing 
spectacle,  than  if  dejected  with  melancholy,  tormented  with 
anxiety,  irritated  with  rage,  or  sunk  into  the  most  abject  baseness 
and  degeneracy?  And  as  to  the  qualities,  immediately  agreeable 
to  others,  they  speak  sufficiently  for  themselves ; and  he  must  be 
unhappy,  indeed,  either  in  his  own  temper,  or  in  his  situation 
and  company,  who  has  never  perceived  the  charms  of  a facetious 
wit  or  flowing  affability,  of  a delicate  modesty  or  decent  genteel- 
ness of  address  and  manner. 


ADAM  SMITH 

(1723-1790) 

THE  THEORY  OF  MORAL  SENTIMENTS  * 
Part  L — OF  THE  PROPRIETY  OF  ACTION 
SECTION  I.  OF  THE  SENSE  OF  PROPRIETT 
Chapter  I.  Of  Sympathy 

How  selfish  soever  man  may  be  supposed,  there  are  evidently 
some  principles  in  his  nature,  wh'ch  interest  him  in  the  fortune  of 
others,  and  render  their  happiness  necessary  to  him,  though  he 
derives  nothing  from  it  except  the  pleasure  of  seeing  it.  Of  this 
kind  is  pity  or  compassion,  the  emotion  which  we  feel  for  the 
misery  of  others,  when  we  either  see  it,  or  are  made  to  conceive 
it  in  a very  lively  manner.  That  we  often  derive  sorrow  from  the 
sorrow  of  others,  is  a matter  of  fact  too  obvious  to  require  any  in- 
stances to  prove  it ; for  this  sentiment,  like  all  the  other  original 
passions  of  human  nature,  is  by  no  means  confined  to  the  virtu- 
ous and  humane,  though  they  perhaps  may  feel  it  with  the  most 
exquisite  sensibility.  The  greatest  ruffian,  the  most  hardened 
violator  of  the  laws  of  society,  is  not  altogether  without  it. 

As  we  have  no  immediate  experience  of  what  other  men  feel, 
we  can  form  no  idea  of  the  manner  in  which  th^  are  affected, 
but  by  conceiving  what  we  ourselves  should  feel  in  the  like  situa- 
tion. Though  our  brother  is  upon  the  rack,  as  long  as  we  our- 
selves are  at  our  ease,  our  senses  will  never  inform  us  of  what  he 
suffers.  They  never  did,  and  never  can,  carry  us  beyond  our  own 
person,  and  it  is  by  the  imagination  only  that  we  can  form  any 
conception  of  what  are  his  sensations.  Neither  can  that  faculty 
help  us  to  this  any  other  way,  than  by  representing  to  us  what 
would  be  our  own,  if  we  were  in  his  case.  It  is  the  impressions  of 
our  own  senses  only,  not  those  of  his,  which  our  imaginations 

* 7sf  ed,,  I.ondon,  1759;  6th  ed.,  ib.,  1790. 


'444 


ADAM  SMITH 


copy.  By  the  imagination  we  place  ourselves  in  his  situation,  we 
conceive  ourselves  enduring  all  the  same  torments,  we  enter  as  it 
were  into  his  body,  and  become  in  some  measure  the  same  person 
with  him,  and  thence  form  some  idea  of  his  sensations,  and  even 
feel  something  which,  though  weaker  in  degree,  is  not  altogether 
unlike  them.  His  agonies,  when  they  are  thus  brought  home  to 
ourselves,  when  we  have  thus  adopted  and  made  them  our  own, 
begin  at  last  to  affect  us,  and  we  then  tremble  and  shudder  at  the 
thought  of  what  he  feels.  For  as  to  be  in  pain  or  distress  of  any 
kind  excites  the  most  excessive  sorrow,  so  to  conceive  or  to  im- 
agine that  we  are  in  it,  excites  some  degree  of  the  same  emotion, 
in  proportion  to  the  vivacity  or  dulness  of  the  conception. 

That  this  is  the  source  of  our  fellow-feeling  for  the  misery  of 
others,  that  it  is  by  changing  places  in  fancy  with  the  sufferer, 
that  we  come  either  to  conceive  or  to  be  affected  by  what  he  feels, 
may  be  demonstrated  by  many  obvious  observations,  if  it  should 
not  be  thought  sufficiently  evident  of  itself.  When  we  see  a stroke 
aimed  and  just  ready  to  fall  upon  the  leg  or  arm  of  another  per- 
son, we  naturally  shrink  and  draw  back  our  own  leg  or  our  own 
arm;  and  when  it  does  fall,  we  feel  it  in  some  measure,  and  are 
hurt  by  it  as  well  as  the  sufferer.  The  mob,  when  they  are  gazing 
at  a dancer  on  the  slack  rope,  naturally  writhe  and  twist  and 
balance  their  own  bodies,  as  they  see  him  do,  and  as  they  feel 
that  they  themselves  must  do  it  in  his  situation.  Persons  of  delicate 
fibres,  and  a weak  constitution  of  body,  complain,  that  in  looking 
on  the  sores  and  ulcers  which  are  exposed  by  beggars  in  the  streets, 
they  are  apt  to  feel  an  itching  or  uneasy  sensation  in  the  corre- 
spondent part'of  their  own  bodies.  The  horror  which  they  con- 
ceive at  the  misery  of  those  wretches  affects  that  particular  part 
in  themselves  more  than  any  other;  because  that  horror  arises 
from  conceiving  what  they  themselves  would  suffer,  if  they  really 
were  the  w’-etches  whom  they  are  looking  upon,  and  if  that  par- 
ticular part  in  themselves  was  actually  affected  in  the  same  miser- 
able manner.  The  very  force  of  this  conception  is  sufficient,  in 
their  feeble  frames,  to  produce  that  itching  or  uneasy  sensation 
complained  of.  Men  of  the  most  robust  make  observe,  mat  m 
looking  upon  sore  eyes  they  often  feel  a very  sensible  soreness  in 


THEORY  OF  MORAL  SENTIMENTS  445 

their  own,  which  proceeds  from  the  same  reason;  that  organ 
being  in  the  strongest  man  more  delicate  than  any  other  part 
of  the  body  is  in  the  weakest. 

Neither  is  it  those  circumstances  only,  which  create  pain  or 
sorrow,  that  call  forth  our  fellow-feeling.  Whatever  is  the  passion 
which  arises  from  any  object  in  the  person  principally  concerned, 
an  analogous  emotion  springs  up,  at  the  thought  of  his  situation, 
in  the  breast  of  every  attentive  spectator.  Our  joy  for  the  deliver- 
ance of  those  heroes  of  tragedy  or  romance  who  interest  us,  is  as 
sincere  as  our  grief  for  their  distress,  and  our  fellow-feeling  with 
their  misery  is  not  more  real  than  that  with  their  happiness.  We 
enter  into  their  gratitude  towards  those  faithful  friends  who  did 
not  desert  them  in  their  difficulties;  and  we  heartily  go  along  with 
their  resentment  against  those  perfidious  traitors  who  injured, 
abandoned,  or  deceived  them.  In  every  passion  of  which  the 
mind  of  man  is  susceptible,  the  emotions  of  the  by-stander  always 
correspond  to  what,  by  bringing  the  case  home  to  himself,  he 
imagines  should  be  the  sentiments  of  the  sufferer. 

Pity  and  compassion  are  words  appropriated  to  signify  our 
fellow-feeling  with  the  sorrow  of  others.  Sympathy,  though  its 
meaning  was,  perhaps,  originally  the  same,  may  now,  however, 
without  much  impropriety,  be  made  use  of  to  denote  our  fellow- 
feeling  with  any  passion  whatever. 

Upon  some  occasions  sympathy  may  seem  to  arise  merely 
from  the  view  of  a certain  emotion  in  another  person.  The  pas- 
sions, upon  some  occasions,  may  seem  to  be  transfused  from  one 
man  to  another,  instantaneously,  and  antecedent  to  any  know- 
ledge of  what  excited  them  in  the  person  principally  concerned. 
Grief  and  joy,  for  example,  strongly  expressed  in  the  look  and 
gestures  of  any  one,  at  once  affect  the  spectator  with  some  degree 
of  a like  painful  or  agreeable  emotion.  A smiling  face  is,  to  every- 
body that  sees  it,  a cheerful  object;  as  a sorrowful  countenance, 
on  the  other  hand,  is  a melancholy  one. 

This,  however,  does  not  hold  universally,  or  with  regard  to 
every  passion.  There  are  some  passions  of  which  the  expres- 
sions excite  no  sort  of  sympathy,  but  before  we  are  acquainted 
with  what  gave  occasion  to  them,  serve  rather  to  disgust  and  pro- 


ADAM  SMITH 


446 

voke  us  against  them.  The  furious  behaviour  of  an  angry  man 
is  more  likely  to  exasperate  us  against  himself  than  against  his 
enemies.  As  we  are  unacquainted  with  his  provocation,  we  cannot 
bring  his  case  home  to  ourselves,  nor  conceive  anything  kke  the 
passions  which  it  excites.  But  we  plainly  see  what  is  the  situation 
of  those  with  whom  he  is  angry,  and  to  what  violence  they  may 
be  exposed  from  so  enraged  an  adversary.  We  readily,  therefore, 
sympathize  with  their  fear  or  resentment,  and  are  immediately 
disposed  to  take  part  against  the  man  from  whom  they  appear  to 
be  in  so  much  danger. 

If  the  very  appearances  of  grief  and  joy  inspire  us  with  some 
degree  of  the  like  emotions,  it  is  because  they  suggest  to  us 
the  general  idea  of  some  good  or  bad  fortune  that  has  befallen 
the  person  in  whom  we  observe  them : 'and  in  these  passions 
this  is  sufficient  to  have  some  little  influence  upon  us.  The 
effects  of  grief  and  joy  terminate  in  the  person  who  feels  those 
emotions,  of  which  the  expressions  do  not,  like  those  of  resent- 
ment, suggest  to  us  the  idea  of  any  other  person  for  whom  we 
are  concerned,  and  whose  interests  are  opposite  to  his.  The  gen- 
eral idea  of  good  or  bad  fortune,  therefore,  creates  some  concern 
for  the  person  who  has  met  with  it,  but  the  general  idea  of  provo- 
cation excites  no  sympathy  with  the  anger  of  the  man  who  has 
received  it.  Nature,  it  seems,  teaches  us  to  be  more  adverse  to 
enter  into  this  passion,  and,  till  informed  of  its  cause,  to  be  dis- 
posed rather  to  take  part  against  it. 

Even  our  sympathy  with  the  grief  or  joy  of  another,  before 
we  are  informed  of  the  cause  of  either,  is  always  extremely  im- 
perfect. General  lamentations,  which  express  nothing  but  the 
anguish  of  the  sufferer,  create  rather  a curiosity  to  inquire  into 
his  situation,  along  with  some  disposition  to  sympathize  with 
him,  than  any  actual  sympathy  that  is  very  sensible.  The  first 
question  which  we  ask  is.  What  has  befallen  you?  Till  this  be 
answered,  though  we  are  uneasy  both  from  the  vague  idea  of  his 
misfortune,  and  still  more  from  torturing  ourselves  with  con- 
jectures about  what  it  may  be,  yet  our  fellow-feeling  is  not  very 
considerable. 

Sympathy,  therefore,  does  not  arise  so  much  from  the  view 


THEORY  OF  MORAL  SENTIMENTS  447 

of  the  passion,  as  from  that  of  the  situation  which  excites  it. 
VVe  sometimes  feel  for  another,  a passion  of  which  he  himself 
seems  to  be  altogether  incapable ; because,  when  we  put  ourselves 
in  his  case,  that  passion  arises  in  our  breast  from  the  imagina- 
tion, though  it  does  not  in  his  from  the  reality.  We  blush  for  the 
impudence  and  rudeness  of  another,  though  he  himself  appears 
to  have  no  sense  of  the  impropriety  of  his  own  behaviour;  be- 
cause we  cannot  help  feeling  with  what  confusion  we  ourselves 
should  be  covered  had  we  behaved  in  so  absurd  a manner. 


Chapter  IV.  Oe  the  Manner  in  which  we  judge  of  the 

Propriety  or  Impropriety  of  tfie  Affections  of  other 

Men  by  their  Concord  or  Dissonance  with  our  own 

We  may  judge  of  the  propriety  or  impropriety  of  the  senti- 
ments of  another  person  by  their  correspondence  or  disagreement 
with  our  own,  upon  two  different  occasions;  either,  first,  when  the 
objects  which  excite  them  are  considered  without  any  particular 
relation  either  to  ourselves  or  to  the  person  whose  sentiments  we 
judge  of;  or,  secondly,  when  they  are  considered  as  peculiarly 
affecting  one  or  other  of  us. 

I.  With  regard  to  those  objects  which  are  considered  without 
any  peculiar  relation  either  to  ourselves  or  to  the  person  whose 
sentiments  we  judge  of;  wherever  his  sentiments  entirely  corre- 
spond with  our  own,  we  ascribe  to  him  the  qualities  of  taste  and 
good  judgment.  The  beauty  of  a plain,  the  greatness  of  a moun- 
tain, the  ornaments  of  a building,  the  expression  of  a picture, 
the  composition  of  a discourse,  the  conduct  of  a third  person,  the 
proportions  of  different  quantities  and  numbers,  the  various 
appearances  which  the  great  machine  of  the  universe  is  per- 
petually exhibiting,  with  the  secret  wheels  and  springs  which 
produce  them;  all  the  general  subjects  of  science  and  taste,  are 
what  we  and  our  companions  regard  as  having  no  peculiar  rela- 
tion to  either  of  us.  We  both  look  at  them  from  the  same  point 
of  view,  and  we  have  no  occasion  for  sympathy,  or  for  that 
imaginary  change  of  situations  from  which  it  arises,  in  order 
to  produce,  with  regard  to  these,  the  most  perfect  harmony  of 


ADAM  SMITH 


448 

sentiments  and  affections.  If,  notwithstanding,  we  are  often 
differently  affected,  it  arises  either  from  the  different  degrees  of 
attention  which  our  different  habits  of  life  allow  us  to  give  easily 
to  the  several  parts  of  those  complex  objects,  or  from  the  different 
degrees  of  natural  acuteness  in  the  faculty  of  the  mind  to  which 
they  are  addressed. 

When  the  sentiments  of  our  companion  coincide  with  our 
own  in  things  of  this  kind,  which  are  obvious  and  easy,  and  in 
which,  perhaps,  we  never  found  a single  person  who  differed 
from  us,  though  we,  no  doubt,  must  approve  of  them,  yet  he 
seems  to  deserve  no  praise  or  admiration  on  account  of  them. 
But  when  they  not  only  coincide  with  our  own,  but  lead  and 
direct  our  own;  when  in  forming  them  he  appears  to  have  at- 
tended to  many  things  which  we  had  overlooked,  and  to  have 
adjusted  them  to  all  the  various  circumstances  of  their  objects; 
we  not  only  approve  of  them,  but  wonder  and  are  surprised  at 
their  uncommon  and  unexpected  acuteness  and  comprehensive- 
ness, and  he  appears  to  deserve  a very  high  degree  of  admiration 
and  applause.  For  approbation,  heightened  by  wonder  and  sur- 
prise, constitutes  the  sentiment  which  is  properly  called  admi- 
ration, and  of  which  applause  is  the  natural  expression.  The 
decision  of  the  man  who  judges  that  exquisite  beauty  is  prefer- 
able to  the  grossest  deformity,  or  that  twice  two  are  equal  to 
four,  must  certainly  be  approved  of  by  all  the  world,  but  will 
not,  surely,  be  much  admired.  It  is  the  acute  and  delicate  dis- 
cernment of  the  man  of  taste,  who  distinguishes  the  minute  and 
scarce  perceptible  differences  of  beauty  and  deformity;  it  is  the 
comprehensive  accuracy  of  the  experienced  mathematician,  who 
unravels  with  ease  the  most  intricate  and  perplexed  proportions; 
it  is  the  great  leader  in  science  and  taste,  the  man  who  directs 
and  conducts  our  own  sentiments,  the  extent  and  superior  just- 
ness of  whose  talents  astonish  us  with  wonder  and  surprise,  who 
excites  our  admiration,  and  seems  to  deserve  our  applause;  and 
upon  this  foundation  is  grounded  the  greater  part  of  the  praise 
which  is  bestowed  upon  what  are  called  the  intellectual  virtues. 

The  utility  of  these  qualities,  it  may  be  thought,  is  what  first 
recommends  them  to  us;  and,  no  doubt,  the  consideration  of 


THEORY  OF  MORAL  SENTIMENTS  449 

this,  when  we  come  to  attend  to  it,  gives  them  a new  value. 
Originally,  however,  we  approve  of  another  man’s  judgment, 
not  as  something  useful,  but  as  right,  as  accurate,  as  agreeable 
to  truth  and  reality : and  it  is  evident  we  attribute  those  qualities 
to  it  for  no  other  reason  but  because  we  find  that  it  agrees  with 
our  own.  Taste,  in  the  same  manner,  is  originally  approved  of, 
not  as  useful,  but  as  just,  as  delicate,  and  as  precisely  suited  to 
its  object.  The  idea  of  the  utility  of  all  qualities  of  this  kind,  is 
plainly  an  after-thought,  and  not  what  first  recommends  them 
to  our  approbation. 

2.  With  regard  to  those  objects,  which  affect  in  a particular 
manner  either  ourselves  or  the  person  whose  sentiments  we 
judge  of,  it  is  at  once  more  difficult  to  preserve  this  harmony 
and  correspondence,  and,  at  the  same  time,  vastly  more  impor- 
tant. My  companion  does  not  naturally  look  upon  the  misfor- 
tune that  has  befallen  me,  or  the  injury  that  has  been  done  me, 
from  the  same  point  of  view  in  which  I consider  them.  They 
affect  me  much  more  nearly.  We  do  not  view  them  from  the  same 
station,  as  we  do  a picture,  or  a poem,  or  a system  of  philosophy, 
and  are,  therefore,  apt  to  be  very  differently  affected  by  them. 
But  I can  much  more  easily  overlook  the  want  of  this  correspond- 
ence of  sentiments  with  regard  to  such  indifferent  objects  as  con- 
cern neither  me  nor  my  companion,  than  with  regard  to  what 
interests  me  so  much  as  the  misfortune  that  has  befallen  me,  or 
the  injury  that  has  been  done  me.  Though  you  despise  that  pic- 
ture, or  that  poem,  or  even  that  system  of  philosophy,  which  I 
admire,  there  is  little  danger  of  our  quarrelling  upon  that  account. 
Neither  of  us  can  reasonably  be  much  interested  about  them. 
They  ought  all  of  them  to  be  matters  of  great  indifference  to  us 
both;  so  that,  though  our  opinions  may  be  opposite,  our  affec- 
tions may  still  be  very  nearly  the  same.  But  it  is  c|uite  otherwise 
with  regard  to  those  objects  by  which  either  you  or  I are  particu- 
larly affected.  Though  your  judgments  in  matters  of  speculation, 
though  your  sentiments  in  matters  of  taste,  are  quite  opposite 
to  mine,  I can  easily  overlook  this  opposition;  and  if  I have  any 
degree  of  temper,  I may  still  find  some  entertainment  in  your 
conversation,  even  upon  those  very  subjects.  But  if  you  have 


450 


ADAM  SMITH 


either  no  fellow-feeling  for  the  misfortunes  I have  met  with, 
or  none  that  bears  any  proportion  to  the  grief  which  distracts 
me;  or  if  you  have  either  no  indignation  at  the  injuries  I have 
suffered,  or  none  that  bears  any  proportion  to  the  resentment 
which  transports  me,  we  can  no  longer  converse  upon  these  sub- 
jects. We  become  intolerable  to  one  another.  I can  neither  sup- 
port your  company,  nor  you  mine.  You  are  confounded  at  my 
violence  and  passion,  and  I am  enraged  at  your  cold  insensibility 
and  want  of  feeling. 

In  all  such  cases,  that  there  may  be  some  correspondence  of 
sentiments  between  the  spectator  and  the  person  principally 
concerned,  the  spectator  must,  first  of  all,  endeavour,  as  much  as 
he  can,  to  put  himself  in  the  situation  of  the  other,  and  to  bring 
home  to  himself  every  little  circumstance  of  distress  which  can 
possibly  occur  to  the  sufferer.  He  must  adopt  the  whole  case 
of  his  companion  with  all  its  minutest  incidents;  and  strive  to 
render  as  perfect  as  possible  that  imaginary  change  of  situation 
upon  which  his  sympathy  is  founded. 

Part  II.  — OF  MERIT  AND  DEMERIT;  OR, 
OF  THE  OBJECTS  OF  REWARD  AND 
PUNISHMENT 

SECTION  /.  — OF  THE  SENSE  OF  MERIT  AND 
DEMERIT 

Chapter  I.  That  whatever  appears  to  be  the  proper 

Object  of  Gratitude,  appears  to  deserve  Reward; 

AND  THAT,  IN  THE  SAME  MANNER,  WHATEVER  A.PPEARS  TO  BE 

THE  PROPER  Object  of  Resentment,  appears  to  deserve 

Punishment 

To  us,  therefore,  that  action  must  appear  to  deserve  reward, 
which  appears  to  be  the  proper  and  approved  object  of  that 
sentiment,  which  most  immediately  and  directly  prompts  us  to 
reward,  or  to  do  good  to  another.  And  in  the  same  manner, 
that  action  must  appear  to  deserve  punishment,  which  appears 
to  be  the  proper  and  approved  object  of  that  sentiment  which 


THEORY  OF  MORAL  SENTIMENTS  451 

most  immediately  and  directly  prompts  us  to  punish,  or  to 
inflict  evil  upon  another. 

The  sentiment  which  most  immediately  and  directly  prompts 
us  to  reward,  is  gratitude;  that  which  most  immediately  and 
directly  prompts  us  to  punish,  is  resentment. 

To  us,  therefore,  that  action  must  appear  to  deserve  reward, 
which  appears  to  be  the  proper  and  approved  object  of  grati- 
tude ; as,  on  the  other  hand,  that  action  must  appear  to  deserve 
punishment,  which  appears  to  be  the  proper  and  approved  object 
of  resentment. 

To  reward  is  to  recompense,  to  remunerate,  to  return  good 
for  good  received.  To  punish,  too,  is  to  recompense,  to  remuner- 
ate, though  in  a different  manner ; it  is  to  return  evil  for  evil  that 
has  been  done. 

There  are  some  other  passions,  besides  gratitude  and  resent- 
ment, which  interest  us  in  the  happiness  or  misery  of  others; 
but  there  are  none  which  so  directly  excite  us  to  be  the  instru- 
ments of  either.  The  love  and  esteem  which  grow  upon  acquaint- 
ance and  habitual  approbation,  necessarily  lead  us  to  be  pleased 
with  the  good  fortune  of  the  man  who  is  the  object  of  such  agree- 
able emotions,  and  consequently,  to  be  willing  to  lend  a hand  to 
promote  it.  Our  love,  however,  is  fully  satisfied,  though  his  good 
fortune  should  be  brought  about  without  our  assistance.  All 
that  this  passion  desires  is  to  see  him  happy,  without  regarding 
who  was  the  author  of  his  prosperity.  But  gratitude  is  not  to  be 
satisfied  in  this  manner.  If  the  person  to  whom  we  owe  many 
obligations  is  made  happy  without  our  assistance,  though  it 
pleases  our  love,  it  does  not  content  our  gratitude.  Till  we  have 
recompensed  him,  till  we  ourselves  have  been  instrumental  in 
promoting  his  happiness,  we  feel  ourselves  still  loaded  with  that 
debt  which  his  past  services  have  laid  upon  us. 

The  hatred  and  dislike,  in  the  same  manner,  which  grow 
upon  habitual  disapprobation,  would  often  lead  us  to  take  a 
malicious  pleasure  in  the  misfortune  of  the  man  whose  conduct 
and  character  excite  so  painful  a passion.  But  though  dislike  and 
hatred  harden  us  against  all  sympathy,  and  sometimes  dispose 
us  even  to  rejoice  at  the  distress  of  another,  yet,  if  there  is  no  re- 


452 


ADAM  SMITH 


sentment  in  the  case,  if  neither  we  nor  our  friends  have  received 
any  great  personal  provocation,  these  passions  would  not  natu- 
rally lead  us  to  wish  to  be  instrumental  in  bringing  it  about. 


But  it  is  quite  otherwise  with  resentment : if  the  person  who 
has  done  us  some  great  injury,  who  had  murdered  our  father  or 
our  brother,  for  example,  should  soon  afterwards  die  of  a fever, 
or  even  be  brought  to  the  scaffold  upon  account  of  some  other 
crime,  though  it  might  soothe  our  hatred,  it  would  not  fully  grat- 
ify our  resentment.  Resentment  would  prompt  us  to  desire,  not 
only  that  he  should  be  punished,  but  that  he  should  be  punished  by 
our  means,  and  upon  account  of  that  particular  injury  which  he  had 
done  to  us.  Resentment  cannot  be  fully  gratified  unless  the  offender 
is  not  only  made  to  grieve  in  his  turn,  but  to  grieve  for  that  partic- 
ular wrong  which  we  have  suffered  from  him.  He  must  be  made 
to  repent  and  be  sorry  for  this  very  action,  that  others,  through 
fear  of  the  like  punishment,  may  be  terrified  from  being  guilty  of 
the  like  offence.  The  natural  gratification  of  this  passion  tends, 
of  its  own  accord,  to  produce  all  the  political  ends  of  punishment ; 
the  correction  of  the  criminal,  and  the  example  to  the  public. 

Gratitude  and  resentment,  therefore,  are  the  sentiments 
which  most  immediately  and  directly  prompt  to  reward  and  to 
punish.  To  us,  therefore,  he  must  appear  to  deserve  reward,  who 
appears  to  be  the  proper  and  approved  object  of  gratitude;  and 
he  to  deserve  punishment,  who  appears  to  be  that  of  resentment. 

Chapter  II.  Of  the  Proper  Objects  of  Gratitude  and 

Resentment 

To  be  the  proper  and  approved  object  either  of  gratitude 
or  resentment,  can  mean  nothing  but  to  be  the  object  of  that 
gratitude,  and  of  that  resentment  which  naturally  seems  proper, 
and  is  approved  of. 

But  these,  as  well  as  all  the  other  passions  of  human  nature, 
seem  proper  and  are  approved  of,  when  the  heart  of  every  impar- 
tial spectator  entirely  sympathizes  with  them,  when  every  indif- 
ferent by-stander  entirely  enters  into,  and  goes  aiong  with  them. 


THEORY  OF  MORAL  SENTIMENTS  453 

He,  therefore,  appears  to  deserve  reward,  who,  to  sonae  person 
or  persons,  is  the  natural  object  of  a gratitude  w'hich  every  human 
heart  is  disposed  to  beat  time  to,  and  thereby  applaud;  and  he, 
on  the  other  hand,  appears  to  deserve  punishment,  who  in  the 
same  manner  is  to  some  person  or  persons  the  natural  object 
of  a resentment  which  the  breast  of  every  reasonable  man  is 
ready  to  adopt  and  sympathize  with.  To  us,  surely,  that  action 
must  appear  to  deserve  rew'ard  which  everybody  who  knows  of 
it  would  wish  to  rewmrd,  and  therefore  delights  to  see  rewarded : 
and  that  action  must  as  surely  appear  to  deserve  punishment 
which  everybody  who  hears  of  it  is  angry  with,  and  upon  that 
account  rejoices  to  see  punished. 

1.  As  we  sympathize  with  the  joy  of  our  companions  when 
in  prosperity,  so  we  join  wdth  them  in  the  complacency  and  satis- 
faction with  W'hich  they  naturally  regard  whatever  is  the  cause 
of  their  good  fortune.  We  enter  into  the  love  and  affection  which 
they  conceive  for  it,  and  begin  to  love  it  too.  We  should  be  sorry 
for  their  sakes  if  it  was  destroyed,  or  even  if  it  w'as  placed  at  too 
great  a distance  from  them,  and  out  of  the  reach  of  their  care 
and  protection,  though  they  should  lose  nothing  by  its  absence 
except  the  pleasure  of  seeing  it.  If  it  is  a man  who  has  thus  been 
the  fortunate  instrument  of  the  happiness  of  his  brethren,  this 
is  still  more  peculiarly  the  case.  When  we  see  one  man  assisted, 
protected,  relieved  by  another,  our  sympathy  w'ith  the  joy  of  the 
person  who  receives  the  benefit  serves  only  to  animate  our  fellow- 
feeling  with  his  gratitude  towards  him  who  bestows  it.  When 
w'e  look  upon  the  person  who  is  the  cause  of  his  pleasure  with  the 
eyes  with  which  we  imagine  he  must  look  upon  him,  his  benefac- 
tor seems  to  stand  before  us  in  the  most  engaging  and  amiable 
light.  We  readily  therefore  sympathize  with  the  grateful  affec- 
tion which  he  conceives  for  a person  to  whom  he  has  been  so 
much  obliged;  and  consequently  applaud  the  returns  w'hich  he  is 
disposed  to  make  for  the  good  offices  conferred  upon  him.  As 
we  entirely  enter  into  the  affection  from  which  these  returns  pro- 
ceed, they  necessarily  seem  every  way  proper  and  suitable  to 
their  object. 

2.  In  the  same  manner,  as  we  sympathize  with  the  sorrow 


454 


ADAM  SMITH 


of  our  fellow-creature  whenever  we  see  his  distress,  so  we  like- 
wise enter  into  his  abhorrence  and  aversion  for  whatever  has 
given  occasion  to  it.  Our  heart,  as  it  adopts  and  beats  time  to  his 
grief,  so  it  is  likewise  animated  with  that  spirit  by  which  he  en- 
deavours to  drive  away  or  destroy  the  cause  of  it.  The  indolent 
and  passive  fellow-feeling  by  which  we  accompany  him  in  his 
sufferings,  readily  gives  way  to  that  more  vigorous  and  active 
sentiment  by  which  we  go  along  with  him  in  the  effort  he  makes, 
either  to  repel  them,  or  to  gratify  his  aversion  to  what  has  given 
occasion  to  them.  This  is  still  more  peculiarly  the  case,  when  it  is 
man  who  has  caused  them.  When  we  see  one  man  oppressed  or 
injured  by  another,  the  sympathy  which  we  feel  with  the  distress 
of  the  sufferer  seems  to  serve  only  to  animate  our  fellow-feeling 
with  his  resentment  against  the  offender.  We  are  rejoiced  to 
see  him  attack  his  adversary  in  his  turn,  and  are  eager  and  ready 
to  assist  him  whenever  he  exerts  himself  for  defence,  or  even  for 
vengeance  within  a certain  degree.  If  the  injured  should  perish 
in  the  quarrel,  we  not  only  sympathize  with  the  real  resentment 
of  his  friends  and  relations,  but  with  the  imaginary  resentment 
which  in  fancy  we  lend  to  the  dead,  who  is  no  longer  capable  of 
feeling  or  any  other  human  sentiment. 


Chapter  IV.  Recapitulation  of  the  Foregoing  Chapters 

I.  We  do  not,  therefore,  thoroughly  and  heartily  sympathize 
with  the  gratitude  of  one  man  towards  another,  merely  because 
this  other  has  been  the  cause  of  his  good  fortune,  unless  he  has 
been  the  cause  of  it  from  motives  which  we  entirely  go  along 
with.  Our  heart  must  adopt  the  principles  of  the  agent,  and  go 
along  with  all  the  affections  which  influenced  his  conduct,  before 
it  can  entirely  sympathize  with,  and  beat  time  to,  the  gratitude 
of  the  person  who  has  been  benefited  by  his  actions.  If  in  the 
conduct  of  the  benefactor  there  appears  to  have  been  no  pro- 
priety, how  beneficial  soever  its  effects,  it  does  not  seem  to  de- 
mand, or  necessarily  to  require,  any  proportionable  recompense. 

But  when  to  the  beneficent  tendency  of  the  action  is  joined 


THEORY  OF  MORAL  SENTIMENTS  455 

the  propriety  of  the  affection  from  which  it  proceeds,  when  we 
entirely  sympathize  and  go  along  with  the  motives  of  the  agent, 
the  love  which  we  conceive  for  him  upon  his  own  account,  en- 
hances and  enlivens  our  fellow-feeling  with  the  gratitude  of  those 
who  owe  their  prosperity  to  his  good  conduct.  His  actions  seem 
then  to  demand,  and,  if  I may  say  so,  to  call  aloud  for  a pro- 
portionable recompense.  We  then  entirely  enter  into  that  grati- 
tude which  prompts  to  bestow  it.  The  benefactor  seems  then  to 
be  the  proper  object  of  reward,  when  we  thus  entirely  sympa- 
thize with,  and  approve  of,  that  sentiment  which  prompts  to 
reward  him.  When  we  approve  of,  and  go  along  with,  the  affec- 
tion from  which  the  action  proceeds,  we  must  necessarily  approve 
of  the  action,  and  regard  the  person  towards  whom  it  is  directed 
as  its  proper  and  suitable  object. 


Part  HE  — OF  THE  FOUNDATION  OF  OUR 
JUDGMENTS  CONCERNING  OUR  OWN 
SENTIMENTS  AND  CONDUCT,  AND  OF 
THE  SENSE  OF  DUTY 

Chapter  I.  Of  the  Principle  of  Self-approbation  and 
OF  Self-disapprobation 

In  the  two  foregoing  parts  of  this  discourse,  I have  chiefly  con- 
sidered the  origin  and  foundation  of  our  judgments  concerning 
the  sentiments  and  conduct  of  others.  I come  now  to  consider 
more  particularly  the  origin  of  those  concerning  our  own. 

The  principle  by  which  we  naturally  either  approve  or  dis- 
approve of  our  own  conduct  seems  to  be  altogether  the  same 
with  that  by  which  we  exercise  the  like  judgments  concerning 
the  conduct  of  other  people.  We  either  approve  or  disapprove 
of  the  conduct  of  another  man  according  as  we  feel  that,  when 
we  bring  his  case  home  to  ourselves,  we  either  can  or  cannot 
entirely  sympathize  with  the  sentiments  and  motives  which 
directed  it.  And,  in  the  same  manner,  we  either  approve  or  dis- 
approve of  our  own  conduct,  according  as  we  feel  that,  when 
we  place  ourselves  in  the  situation  of  another  man,  and  view  it. 


ADAM  SMITH 


456 

as  it  were,  with  his  eyes,  and  from  his  station,  we  either  can  or 
cannot  entirely  enter  into  and  sympathize  with  the  sentiments 
and  motives  which  influenced  it.  We  can  never  survey  our  own 
sentiments  and  motives,  we  can  never  form  any  judgment  con- 
cerning them;  unless  we  remove  ourselves,  as  it  were,  from  our 
own  natural  station,  and  endeavour  to  view  them  as  at  a certain 
distance  from  us.  But  we  can  do  this  in  no  other  way  than  by 
endeavouring  to  view  them  with  the  eyes  of  other  people,  or  as 
other  people  are  likely  to  view  them.  Whatever  judgment  we 
can  form  concerning  them,  accordingly,  must  always  bear  some 
secret  reference,  either  to  what  are,  or  to  what,  upon  a certain 
condition,  would  be,  or  to  what,  we  imagine,  ought  to  be  the  judg- 
ment of  others.  We  endeavour  to  examine  our  own  conduct  as 
we  imagine  any  other  fair  and  impartial  spectator  would  examine 
it.  If,  upon  placing  ourselves  in  his  situation,  we  thoroughly 
enter  into  all  the  passions  and  motives  which  influenced  it,  we 
approve  of  it,  by  sympathy  with  the  approbation  of  this  sup- 
posed equitable  judge.  If  otherwise,  we  enter  into  his  disap- 
probation, and  condemn  it. 

Were  it  possible  that  a human  creature  could  grow  up  to 
manhood  in  some  solitary  place,  without  any  communication 
with  his  own  species,  he  could  no  more  think  of  his  own  charac- 
ter, of  the  propriety  or  demerit  of  his  own  sentiments  and  con- 
duct, of  the  beauty  or  deformity  of  his  own  mind,  than  of  the 
beauty  or  deformity  of  his  own  face.  All  these  are  objects  which 
he  cannot  easily  see,  which  naturally  he  does  not  look  at,  and 
with  regard  to  which  he  is  provided  with  no  mirror  which  can 
present  them  to  his  view.  Bring  him  into  society,  and  he  is  im- 
mediately provided  with  the  mirror  which  he  wanted  before. 
It  is  placed  in  the  countenance  and  behaviour  of  those  he  lives 
with,  which  always  mark  when  they  enter  into,  and  when  they 
disapprove  of  his  sentiments;  and  it  is  here  that  he  first  views 
the  propriety  and  impropriety  of  his  own  passions,  the  beauty 
and  deformity  of  his  own  mind.  To  a man  who  from  his  birth 
was  a stranger  to  society,  the  objects  of  his  passions,  the  external 
bodies  which  either  pleased  or  hurt  him,  would  occupy  his  whole 
attention.  The  passions  themselves,  the  desires  or  aversions,  the 


THEORY  OF  MORAL  SENTIMENTS  457 

joys  or  sorrows,  which  those  objects  excited,  though  of  all  things 
the  most  immediately  present  to  him,  could  scarce  ever  be  the 
objects  of  his  thoughts.  The  idea  of  them  could  never  interest  him 
so  much  as  to  call  upon  his  attentive  consideration.  The  con- 
sideration of  his  joy  could  in  him  excite  no  new  joy,  nor  that 
of  his  sorrow  any  new  sorrow,  though  the  consideration  of  the 
causes  of  those  passions  might  often  excite  both.  Bring  him 
into  society,  and  all  his  own  passions  will  immediately  become 
the  causes  of  new  passions.  He  will  observe  that  mankind  ap- 
prove of  some  of  them,  and  are  disgusted  by  others.  He  will  be 
elevated  in  the  one  case,  and  cast  down  in  the  other ; his  desires 
and  aversions,  his  joys  and  sorrows,  will  now  often  become  the 
causes  of  new  desires  and  new  aversions,  new  joys  and  new  sor- 
rows : they  will  now,  therefore,  interest  him  deeply,  and  often  call 
upon  his  most  attentive  consideration. 

Our  first  ideas  of  personal  beauty  and  deformity  are  drawn 
from  the  shape  and  appearance  of  others,  not  from  our  own. 
We  soon  become  sensible,  however,  that  others  exercise  the 
same  criticism  upon  us.  We  are  pleased  when  they  approve  of 
our  figure,  and  are  disobliged  when  they  seem  to  be  disgusted. 
We  become  anxious  to  know  how  far  our  appearance  deserves 
either  their  blame  or  approbation.  We  examine  our  persons 
limb  by  limb,  and  by  placing  ourselves  before  a looking-glass, 
or  by  some  such  expedient,  endeavour,  as  much  as  possible, 
to  view  ourselves  at  the  distance  and  with  the  eyes  of  other 
people.  If,  after  this  examination,  we  are  satisfied  with  our  own 
appearance,  we  can  more  easily  support  the  most  disadvantageous 
judgments  of  others.  If,  on  the  contrary,  we  are  sensible  that 
we  are  the  natural  objects  of  distaste,  every  appearance  of  their 
disapprobation  mortifies  us  beyond  all  measure.  A man  who  is 
tolerably  handsome,  will  allow  you  to  laugh  at  any  little  irregu- 
larity in  his  person;  but  all  such  jokes  are  commonly  unsupport- 
able  to  one  who  is  really  deformed.  It  is  evident,  however,  that 
we  are  anxious  about  our  own  beauty  and  deformity,  only  upon 
account  of  its  effect  upon  others.  If  we  had  no  connexion  with 
society,  we  should  be  altogether  indifferent  about  either. 

In  the  same  manner  our  first  moral  criticisms  are  exercised 


ADAM  SMITH 


458 

upon  the  characters  and  conduct  of  other  people ; and  we  are  all 
very  forward  to  observe  how  each  of  these  affects  us.  But  we  soon 
learn,  that  other  people  are  equally  frank  with  regard  to  our  own. 
We  become  anxious  to  know  how  far  we  deserve  their  censure 
or  applause,  and  whether  to  them  we  must  necessarily  appear 
those  agreeable  or  disagreeable  creatures  which  they  represent 
us.  We  begin,  upon  this  account,  to  examine  our  own  passions 
and  conduct,  and  to  consider  how  these  must  appear  to  them, 
by  considering  how  they  would  appear  to  us  if  in  their  situation. 
We  suppose  ourselv^es  the  spectators  of  our  own  behaviour,  and 
endeavour  to  imagine  what  effect  it  would,  in  this  light,  produce 
upon  us.  This  is  the  only  looking-glass  by  which  we  can,  in  some 
measure,  with  the  eyes  of  other  people,  scrutinize  the  propriety 
of  our  own  conduct.  If  in  this  view  it  pleases  us,  we  are  tolerably 
satisfied.  We  can  be  more  indifferent  about  the  applause,  and, 
in  some  measure,  despise  the  censure  of  the  world;  secure  that, 
however  misunderstood  or  misrepresented,  we  are  the  natural 
and  proper  objects  of  approbation.  On  the  contrary,  if  we  are 
doubtful  about  it,  we  are  often  upon  that  very  account,  more 
anxious  to  gain  their  approbation,  and  provided  we  have  not 
already,  as  they  say,  shaken  hands  with  infamy,  we  are  alto- 
gether distracted  at  the  thoughts  of  their  censure,  which  then 
strikes  us  with  double  severity. 

When  I endeavour  to  examine  my  own  conduct,  when  I en- 
deavour to  pass  sentence  upon  it,  and  either  to  approve  or  con- 
demn it,  it  is  evident  that,  in  all  such  cases,  I divide  myself, 
as  it  were,  into  two  persons;  and  that  I,  the  examiner  and  judge, 
represent  a different  character  from  that  other  I,  the  person  whose 
conduct  is  examined  into,  and  judged  of.  The  first  is  the  spec- 
tator, whose  sentiments  with  regard  to  my  own  conduct  I en- 
deavour to  enter  into,  by  placing  myself  in  his  situation,  and  by 
considering  how  it  would  appear  to  me,  when  seen  from  that 
particular  point  of  view.  The  second  is  the  agent,  the  person 
whom  I properly  call  myself,  and  of  whose  conduct,  under 
the  character  of  a spectator,  I was  endeavouring  to  form  some 
opinion.  The  first  is  the  judge;  the  second  the  person  judged  of. 
But  that  the  judge  should,  in  every  respect,  be  the  same  with  the 


THEORY  OF  MORAL  SENTIMENTS  459 

person  judged  of,  is  as  impossible,  as  that  the  cause  should,  in 
every  respect,  be  the  same  with  the  effect. 

To  be  amiable  and  to  be  meritorious;  that  is,  to  deserve  love 
and  to  deserve  reward,  are  the  great  characters  of  virtue;  and 
to  be  odious  and  punishable,  of  vice.  But  all  these  characters 
have  an  immediate  reference  to  the  sentiments  of  others.  Virtue 
is  not  said  to  be  amiable,  or  to  be  meritorious,  because  it  is  the 
object  of  its  own  love,  or  of  its  own  gratitude;  but  because  it 
excites  those  sentiments  in  other  men.  The  consciousness  that 
it  is  the  object  of  such  favourable  regards,  is  the  source  of  that 
inward  tranquillity  and  self-satisfaction  with  which  it  is  naturally 
attended,  as  the  suspicion  of  the  contrary,  gives  occasion  to  the 
torments  of  vice.  What  so  great  happiness  as  to  be  beloved,  and 
to  know  that  we  deserve  to  be  beloved  ? What  so  great  misery 
as  to  be  hated,  and  to  know  that  we  deserve  to  be  hated  ? 


Chapter  IV.  Of  the  Nature  of  Self-deceit,  and  of  the 
Origin  and  Use  of  General  Rules 


There  are  two  different  occasions  upon  which  we  examine  our 
own  conduct,  and  endeavour  to  view  it  in  the  light  in  which  the 
impartial  spectator  would  view  it:  first,  when  we  are  about  to 
act;  and  secondly,  after  we  have  acted.  Our  views  are  apt  to  be 
very  partial  in  both  cases;  but  they  are  apt  to  be  most  partial 
when  it  is  of  most  importance  that  they  should  be  otherwise. 

When  we  are  about  to  act,  the  eagerness  of  passion  will  sel- 
dom allow  us  to  consider  what  we  are  doing,  with  the  candour  of 
an  indifferent  person.  The  violent  emotions  which  at  that  time 
agitate  us,  discolour  our  views  of  things,  even  when  we  are  en- 
deavouring to  place  ourselves  in  the  situation  of  another,  and 
to  regard  the  objects  that  interest  us  in  the  light  in  which  they 
will  naturally  appear  to  him.  The  fury  of  our  own  passions 
constantly  calls  us  back  to  our  own  place,  where  everything  ap- 
pears magnified  and  misrepresented  by  self-love.  Of  the  manner 
in  which  those  objects  would  appear  to  another,  of  the  view  which 


460 


ADAM  SMITH 


he  would  take  of  them,  we  can  obtain,  if  I may  say  so,  but  in- 
stantaneous glimpses,  which  vanish  in  a moment,  and  which, 
even  while  they  last,  are  not  altogether  just.  We  cannot  even  for 
that  moment  divest  ourselves  entirely  of  the  heat  and  keenness 
with  which  our  peculiar  situation  inspires  us,  nor  consid^  what 
we  are  about  to  do  with  the  complete  impartiality  of  an  equitable 
judge.  The  passions,  upon  this  account,  as  father  Malebranche 
says,  all  justify  themselves,  and  seem  reasonable  and  propor- 
tioned to  their  objects,  as  long  as  we  continue  to  feel  them. 

When  the  action  is  over,  indeed,  and  the  passions  which 
prompted  it  have  subsided,  we  can  enter  more  coolly  into  the 
sentiments  of  the  indifferent  spectator.  What  before  interested 
us  is  now  become  almost  as  indifferent  to  us  as  it  always  was 
to  him,  and  we  can  now  examine  our  own  conduct  with  his 
candour  and  impartiality.  The  man  of  to-day  is  no  longer  agi- 
tated by  the  same  passions  which  distracted  the  man  of  yester- 
day: and  when  the  paroxysm  of  emotion,  in  the  same  manner 
as  when  the  paroxysm  of  distress,  is  fairly  over,  we  can  identify 
ourseh'es,  as  it  were,  with  the  ideal  man  within  the  breast,  and, 
in  our  own  character,  view,  as  in  the  one  case,  our  own  situation, 
so  in  the  other,  our  own  conduct,  with  the  severe  eyes  of  the  most 
impartial  spectator.  But  our  judgments  now  are  often  of  little 
importance  in  comparison  of  what  they  were  before;  and  can 
frequently  produce  nothing  but  vain  regret  and  unavailing  re- 
pentance; without  always  securing  us  from  the  like  errors  in 
time  to  come. 


So  partial  are  the  views  of  mankind  with  regard  to  the  pro- 
priety of  their  own  conduct,  both  at  the  time  of  action  and  after 
it;  and  so  difficult  is  it  for  them  to  view  it  in  the  light  in  which 
any  indifferent  spectator  would  consider  it.  But  if  it  was  by  a 
peculiar  faculty,  such  as  the  moral  sense  is  supposed  to  be,  that 
they  judged  of  their  own  conduct,  if  they  were  endued  with  a 
particular  power  of  perception,  which  distinguished  the  beauty 
or  deformity  of  passions  and  affections;  as  their  own  passions 
would  be  more  immediately  exposed  to  the  view  of  this  faculty, 
it  would  judge  with  more  accuracy  concerning  them,  than  con- 


THEORY  OF  MORAL  SENTIMENTS  461 

cerning  those  of  other  men,  of  which  it  had  only  a more  distant 
prospect. 

This  self-deceit,  this  fatal  weakness  of  mankind,  is  the  source 
of  half  the  disorders  of  human  life.  If  we  saw  ourselves  in  the 
light  in  which  others  see  us,  or  in  which  they  would  see  us  if  they 
knew  all,  a reformation  would  generally  be  unavoidable.  We 
could  not  otherwise  endure  the  fight. 

Nature,  however,  has  not  left  this  weakness,  which  is  of  so 
much  importance,  altogether  without  a remedy;  nor  has  she 
abandoned  us  entirely  to  the  delusions  of  self-love.  Our  con- 
tinual observations  upon  the  conduct  of  others,  insensibly  lead 
us  to  form  to  ourselves  certain  general  rules  concerning  what  is 
fit  and  proper  either  to  be  done  or  to  be  avoided.  Some  of  their 
actions  shock  all  our  natural  sentiments.  We  hear  everybody 
about  us  express  the  like  detestation  against  them.  This  still 
further  confirms,  and  even  exasperates  our  natural  sense  of  their 
deformity.  It  satisfies  us  that  we  view  them  in  the  proper  light, 
when  we  see  other  people  view  them  in  the  same  light.  We  re- 
solve never  to  be  guilty  of  the  like,  nor  ever,  upon  any  account, 
to  render  ourselves  in  this  manner  the  objects  of  universal  dis- 
approbation. We  thus  naturally  lay  down  to  ourselves  a general 
rule,  that  all  such  actions  are  to  be  avoided,  as  tending  to  render 
us  odious,  contemptible,  or  punishable,  the  objects  of  all  those 
sentiments  for  which  we  have  the  greatest  dread  and  aversion. 
Other  actions,  on  the  contrary,  call  forth  our  approbation,  and 
we  hear  everybody  around  us  express  the  same  favourable  opin- 
ion concerning  them.  Everybody  is  eager  to  honour  and  reward 
them.  They  excite  all  those  sentiments  for  which  we  have  by 
nature  the  strongest  desire ; the  love,  the  gratitude,  the  admira- 
tion of  mankind.  We  become  ambitious  of  performing  the  like; 
and  thus  naturally  lay  down  to  ourselves  a rule  of  another  kind, 
that  every  opportunity  of  acting  in  this  manner  is  carefully  to 
be  sought  after. 

It  is  thus  that  the  general  rules  of  morality  are  formed.  They 
are  ultimately  founded  upon  experience  of  what,  in  particular 
instances,  our  moral  faculties,  our  natural  sense  of  merit  and 
propriety,  approve,  or  disapprove  of.  We  do  not  originally 


ADAM  SMITH 


462 

approve  or  condemn  particular  actions;  because,  upon  examina- 
tion, they  appear  to  be  agreeable  or  inconsistent  with  a certain 
general  rule.  The  general  rule,  on  the  contrary,  is  formed,  by 
finding  from  experience,  that  all  actions  of  a certain  kind,  or 
circumstanced  in  a certain  manner,  are  approved  or  disapproved 
of.  To  the  man  who  first  saw  an  inhuman  murder,  committed 
from  avarice,  envy,  or  unjust  resentment,  and  upon  one  too  that 
loved  and  trusted  the  murderer,  who  beheld  the  last  agonies  of 
the  dying  person,  who  heard  him,  with  his  expiring  breath,  com- 
plain more  of  the  perfidy  and  ingratitude  of  his  false  friend,  than 
of  the  violence  which  had  been  done  to  him,  there  could  be  no 
occasion,  in  order  to  conceive  how  horrible  such  an  action  was, 
that  he  should  reflect,  that  one  of  the  most  sacred  rules  of  conduct 
was  what  prohibited  the  taking  away  the  life  of  an  innocent  per- 
son, that  this  was  a plain  violation  of  that  rule,  and  consequently, 
a very  blameable  action.  His  detestation  of  this  crime,  it  is  evi- 
dent, would  arise  instantaneously  and  antecedent  to  his  having 
formed  to  himself  any  such  general  rule.  The  general  rule,  on 
the  contrary,  which  he  might  afterwards  form,  would  be  founded 
upon  the  detestation  which  he  felt  necessarily  arise  in  his  own 
breast,  at  the  thought  of  this,  and  every  other  particular  action 
of  the  same  kind. 


When  these  general  rules,  indeed,  have  been  formed,  when 
they  are  universally  acknowledged  and  established,  by  the  con- 
curring sentiments  of  mankind,  we  frequently  appeal  to  them  as 
to  the  standards  of  judgment,  in  debating  concerning  the  degree 
of  praise  or  blame  that  is  due  to  certain  actions  of  a complicated 
and  dubious  nature.  They  are  upon  these  occasions  commonly 
cited  as  the  ultimate  foundations  of  what  is  just  and  vmjust  in 
human  conduct;  and  this  circumstance  seems  to  have  misled 
several  very  eminent  authors,  to  draw  up  their  systems  in  such  a 
manner,  as  if  they  had  supposed  that  the  original  judgments  of 
mankind  with  regard  to  right  and  wrong,  were  formed  like  the 
decisions  of  a court  of  judicatory,  by  considering  first  the  general 
rule,  and  then,  secondly,  whether  the  particular  action  under  con- 
sideration fell  properly  within  its  comprehension. 


THEORY  OF  MORAL  SENTIMENTS  463 


Part  IV.  — OF  THE  EFFECT  OF  UTILITY 
UPON  THE  SENTIMENT  OF  APPROBATION 

Chapter  II.  Of  the  Beauty  which  the  Appearance  of 
Utility  bestows  upon  the  Characters  and  Actions  of 
Men  ; and  how  far  the  perception  of  this  Beauty 
MAY  BE  regarded  AS  ONE'  OF  THE  ORIGINAL  PRINCIPLES  OF 
Approbation 

The  characters  of  men,  as  well  as  the  contrivances  of  art,  or 
the  institutions  of  civil  government,  may  be  fitted  either  to  pro- 
mote or  to  disturb  the  happiness  both  of  the  individual  and  of 
the  society.  The  prudent,  the  equitable,  the  active,  resolute,  and 
sober  character  promises  prosperity  and  satisfaction,  both  to  the 
person  himself  and  to  every  one  connected  with  him.  The  rash, 
the  insolent,  the  slothful,  effeminate,  and  voluptuous,  on  the  con- 
trary, forbodes  ruin  to  the  individual,  and  misfortune  to  all  who 
have  anything  to  do  with  him.  The  first  turn  of  mind  has  at  least 
all  the  beauty  which  can  belong  to  the'  most  perfect  machine 
that  was  ever  invented  for  promoting  the  most  agreeable  pur- 
pose : and  the  second,  all  the  deformity  of  the  most  awkward  and 
clumsy  contrivance.  What  institution  of  government  could  tend 
so  much  to  promote  the  happiness  of  mankind  as  the  general 
prevalence  of  wisdom  and  virtue?  All  government  is  but  an 
imperfect  remedy  for  the  deficiency  of  these.  Whatever  beauty, 
therefore,  can  belong  to  civil  government  upon  account  of  its 
utility,  must  in  a far  superior  degree  belong  to  these.  On  the 
contrary,  what  civil  policy  can  be  so  ruinous  and  destructive  as 
the  vices  of  men?  The  fatal  effects  of  bad  government  arise 
from  nothing,  but  that  it  does  not  sufficiently  guard  against  the 
mischiefs  which  human  wickedness  gives  occasion  to. 

This  beauty  and  deformity  which  characters  appear  to  derive 
from  their  usefulness  or  inconveniency,  are  apt  to  strike,  in  a 
peculiar  manner,  those  who  consider,  in  an  abstract  and  phi- 
losophical light,  the  actions  and  conduct  of  mankind.  When  a 
philosopher  goes  to  examine  why  humanity  is  approved  of  or 
cruelty  condemned,  he  does  not  always  form  to  himself,  in  a very 


ADAM  SMITH 


464 

clear  and  distinct  manner,  the  conception  of  any  one  particular 
action  either  of  cruelty  or  of  humanity,  but  is  commonly  con- 
tented with  the  vague  and  indeterminate  idea  which  the  general 
names  of  those  qualities  suggest  to  him.  But  it  is  in  particular 
instances  only  that  the  propriety  or  impropriety,  the  merit  or 
demerit  of  actions  is  very  obvious  and  discernible.  It  is  only 
when  particular  examples  are  given  that  we  perceive  distinctly 
either  the  concord  or  disagreement  between  our  own  affections 
and  those  of  the  agent,  or  feel  a social  gratitude  arise  towards  him 
in  the  one  case,  or  a sympathetic  resentment  in  the  other.  When 
we  consider  virtue  and  vice  in  an  abstract  and  general  manner, 
the  qualities  by  which  they  excite  these  several  sentiments  seem 
in  a great  measure  to  disappear,  and  the  sentiments  themselves 
become  less  obvious  and  discernible.  On  the  contrary,  the  happy 
effects  of  the  one  and  the  fatal  consequences  of  the  other  seem 
then  to  rise  up  to  the  view,  and  as  it  were  to  stand  out  and  dis- 
tinguish themselves  from  all  the  other  qualities  of  either. 

The  same  ingenious  and  agreeable  author  who  first  explained 
why  utility  pleases,  has  been  so  struck  with  this  view  of  things, 
as  to  resolve  our  whole  approbation  of  virtue  into  a perception 
of  this  species  of  beauty  which  results  from  the  appearance  of 
utility.  No  qualities  of  the  mind,  he  observes,  are  approved 
of  as  virtuous,  but  such  as  are  useful  or  agreeable  either  to  the 
person  himself  or  to  others;  and  no  qualities  are  disapproved 
of  as  vicious,  but  such  as  have  a contrary  tendency.  And  Na- 
ture, indeed,  seems  to  have  so  happily  adjusted  our  sentiments 
of  approbation  and  disapprobation,  to  the  conveniency  both  of 
the  individual  and  of  the  society,  that  after  the  strictest  exami- 
nation it  will  be  found,  I believe,  that  this  is  universally  the 
case.  But  still  I affirm  that  it  is  not  the  view  of  this  utility  or 
hurtfulness  which  is  either  the  first  or  principal  source  of 
our  approbation  and  disapprobation.  These  sentiments  are  no 
doubt  enhanced  and  enlivened  by  the  perception  of  the  beauty 
or  deformity  which  results  from  this  utility  or  hurtfulness.  But 
still,  I say,  they  are  originally  and  essentially  different  from  this 
perception. 

For  first  of  all,  it  seems  impossible  that  the  approbation  of 


THEORY  OF  MORAL  SENTIMENTS  465 

virtue  should  be  a sentiment  of  the  same  kind  with  that  by  which 
we  approve  of  a convenient  and  well-contrived  building;  or  that 
we  should  have  no  other  reason  for  praising  a man  than  that 
for  which  we  recommend  a chest  of  drawers. 

And  secondly,  it  will  be  found,  upon  examination,  that  the 
usefulness  of  any  disposition  of  mind  is  seldom  the  first  ground 
of  our  approbation;  and  that  the  sentiment  of  approbation 
always  involves  in  it  a sense  of  propriety  quite  distinct  from 
the  perception  of  utility.  We  may  observe  this  with  regard  to 
all  the  qualities  which  are  approved  of  as  virtuous,  both  those 
which,  according  to  this  system,  are  originally  valued  as  useful 
to  ourselves,  as  well  as  those  which  are  esteemed  on  account  of 
their  usefulness  to  others. 

The  qualities  most  useful  to  ourselves  are,  first  of  all,  superior 
reason  and  understanding,  by  which  we  are  capable  of  discern- 
ing the  remote  consequences  of  all  our  actions,  and  of  foreseeing 
the  advantage  or  detriment  which  is  likely  to  result  from  them : 
and  secondly,  self-command,  by  which  we  are  enabled  to  abstain 
from  present  pleasure  or  to  endure  present  pain,  in  order  to  ob- 
tain a greater  pleasure  or  to  avoid  a greater  pain  in  some  future 
time.  In  the  union  of  those  two  qualities  consists  the  virtue  of 
prudence,  of  all  the  virtues  that  which  is  most  useful  to  the  in- 
dividual. 

With  regard  to  the  first  of  those  qualities,  it  has  been  observed 
on  a former  occasion,  that  superior  reason  and  understanding  are 
originally  approved  of  as  just  and  right  and  accurate,  and  not 
merely  as  useful  or  advantageous.  It  is  in  the  abstruser  sciences, 
particularly  in  the  higher  parts  of  mathematics,  that  the  greatest 
and  most  admired  exertions  of  human  reason  have  been  dis- 
played. But  the  utility  of  those  sciences,  either  to  the  individual 
or  to  the  public,  is  not  very  obvious,  and  to  prove  it,  requires 
a discussion  which  is  not  always  very  easily  comprehended.  It 
was  not,  therefore,  their  utility  which  first  recommended  them 
to  the  public  admiration.  This  quality  was  but  little  insisted 
upon,  till  it  became  necessary  to  make  some  reply  to  the  re- 
proaches of  those,  who,  having  themselves  no  taste  for  such  sub- 
lime discoveries,  endeavoured  to  depreciate  them  as  useless. 


ADAM  SMITH 


466 

That  self-command,  in  the  same  manner,  by  which  we  re- 
strain our  present  appetites,  in  order  to  gratify  them  more  fully 
upon  another  occasion,  is  approved  of,  as  much  under  the  aspect 
of  propriety,  as  under  that  of  utility.  When  we  act  in  this  man- 
ner, the  sentiments  which  influence  our  conduct  seem  exactly  to 
coincide  with  those  of  the  spectator.  The  spectator  does  not  feel 
the  solicitations  of  our  present  appetites.  To  him  the  pleasure 
which  we  are  to  enjoy  a week  hence,  or  a year  hence,  is  just  as 
interesting  as  that  which  we  are  to  enjoy  this  moment.  When 
for  the  sake  of  the  present,  therefore,  we  sacrifice  the  future,  our 
conduct  appears  to  him  absurd  and  extravagant  in  the  high- 
est degree,  and  he  cannot  enter  into  the  principles  which  influ- 
ence it.  On  the  contrary,  when  we  abstain  from  present  pleasure, 
in  order  to  secure  greater  pleasure  to  come,  when  we  act  as  if  the 
remote  object  interested  us  as  much  as  that  which  immediately 
presses  upon  the  senses,  as  our  affections  exactly  correspond  with 
his  own,  he  cannot  fail  to  approve  of  our  behaviour : and  as  he 
knows  from  experience,  how  few  are  capable  of  this  self-com- 
mand, he  looks  upon  our  conduct  with  a considerable  degree  of 
wonder  and  admiration.  Hence  arises  that  eminent  esteem  with 
which  all  men  naturally  regard  a steady  perseverance  in  the  prac- 
tice of  frugality,  industry,  and  application,  though  directed  to  no 
other  purpose  than  the  acquisition  of  fortune.  The  resolute  firm- 
ness of  the  person  who  acts  in  this  manner,  and,  in  order  to  ob- 
tain a great  though  remote  advantage,  not  only  gives  up  all 
present  pleasures,  but  endures  the  greatest  labour  both  of  mind 
and  body,  necessarily  commands  our  approbation.  That  view 
of  his  interest  and  happiness  which  appears  to  regulate  his  con- 
duct, exactly  tallies  with  the  idea  which  we  naturally  form  of  it. 
There  is  the  most  perfect  correspondence  between  his  senti- 
ments and  our  own,  and  at  the  same  time,  from  our  experience 
of  the  common  weakness  of  human  nature,  it  is  a correspond- 
ence which  we  could  not  reasonably  have  expected.  We  not 
only  approve,  therefore,  but  in  some  measure  admire  his  con- 
duct, and  think  it  worthy  of  a considerable  degree  of  applause. 
It  is  the  consciousness  of  this  merited  approbation  and  esteem 
which  is  alone  capable  of  supporting  the  agent  in  this  tenour 


THEORY  OF  MORAL  SENTIMENTS  467 

of  conduct.  The  pleasure  which  we  are  to  enjoy  ten  years  hence 
interests  us  so  little  in  comparison  with  that  which  we  may  enjoy 
to-day,  the  passion  which  the  first  excites,  is  naturally  so  weak  in 
comparison  with  that  violent  emotion  which  the  second  is  apt  to 
give  occasion  to,  that  the  one  could  never  be  any  balance  to  the 
other,  unless  it  was  supported  by  the  sense  of  propriety,  by  the 
consciousness  that  we  merited  the  esteem  and  approbation  of 
everybody,  by  acting  in  the  one  way,  and  that  we  became  the 
proper  objects  of  their  contempt  and  derision  by  behaving  in 
the  other. 

Humanity,  justice,  generosity,  and  public  spirit,  are  the 
qualities  most  useful  to  others.  Wherein  consists  the  propriety 
of  humanity  and  justice  has  been  explained  upon  a former  occa- 
sion, where  it  was  shown  how  much  our  esteem  and  approbation 
of  those  qualities  depended  upon  the  concord  between  the  affec- 
tions of  the  agent  and  those  of  the  spectators. 

The  propriety  of  generosity  and  public  spirit  is  founded  upon 
the  same  principle  with  that  of  justice.  Generosity  is  different 
from  humanity.  Those  two  qualities,  which  at  first  sight  seem 
so  nearly  allied,  do  not  always  belong  to  the  same  person.  Hu- 
manity is  the  virtue  of  a woman,  generosity  of  a man.  The  fair 
sex,  who  have  commonly  much  more  tenderness  than  ours,  have 
seldom  so  much  generosity.  That  women  rarely  make  con- 
siderable donations,  is  an  observation  of  the  civil  law.^  Hu- 
manity consists  merely  in  the  exquisite  fellow-feeling  which 
the  spectator  entertains  with  the  sentiments  of  the  persons 
principally  concerned,  so  as  to  grieve  for  their  sufferings,  to 
resent  their  injuries,  and  to  rejoice  at  their  good  fortune.  The 
most  humane  actions  require  no  self-denial,  no  self-command, 
no  great  exertion  of  the  sense  of  propriety.  They  consist  only  in 
doing  what  this  exquisite  S)mipathy  would  of  its  own  accord 
prompt  us  to  do.  But  it  is  otherwise  with  generosity.  We  never 
are  generous  except  when  in  some  respect  we  prefer  some  other 
person  to  ourselves,  and  sacrifice  some  great  and  important  in- 
terest of  our  own  to  an  equal  interest  of  a friend  or  of  a superior. 
The  man  who  gives  up  his  pretensions  to  an  office  that  was  the 


* Raro  mulieres  donare  solent. 


ADAM  SMITH 


468 

great  object  of  his  ambition,  because  he  imagines  that  the  ser- 
vices of  another  are  better  entitled  to  it;  the  man  who  exposes 
his  life  to  defend  that  of  his  friend,  which  he  judges  to  be  of 
more  importance,  neither  of  them  act  from  humanity,  or  be- 
cause they  feel  more  exquisitely  what  concerns  that  other  person 
than  what  concerns  themselves.  They  both  consider  those  op- 
posite interests,  not  in  the  light  in  which  they  naturally  appear 
to  themselves,  but  in  that  in  which  they  appear  to  others.  To 
every  by-stander,  the  success  or  preservation  of  this  other  person 
may  justly  be  more  interesting  than  their  own ; but  it  cannot  be  so 
to  themselves.  When  to  the  interest  of  this  other  person,  there- 
fore, they  sacrifice  their  own,  they  accommodate  themselves  to 
the  sentiments  of  the  spectator,  and  by  an  effort  of  magnanimity 
act  according  to  those  views  of  things  which  they  feel,  must 
naturally  occur  to  any  third  person.  The  soldier  who  throws 
away  his  life  in  order  to  defend  that  of  his  officer,  would  perhaps 
be  but  little  affected  by  the  death  of  that  officer,  if  it  should 
happen  without  any  fault  of  his  own ; and  a very  small  disaster 
which  had  befallen  himself  might  excite  a much  more  lively 
sorrow.  But  when  he  endeavours  to  act  so  as  to  deserve  ap- 
plause, and  to  make  the  impartial  spectator  enter  into  the 
principles  of  his  conduct,  he  feels,  that  to  everybody  but  himself, 
his  own  life  is  a trifle  compared  with  that  of  his  officer,  and  that 
when  he  sacrifices  the  one  to  the  other,  he  acts  quite  properly 
and  agreeably  to  what  would  be  the  natural  apprehensions  of 
every  impartial  by-stander. 

It  is  the  same  case  with  the  greater  exertions  of  public  spirit. 
When  a young  officer  exposes  his  life  to  acquire  some  inconsider- 
able addition  to  the  dominions  of  his  sovereign,  it  is  not  because 
the  acquisition  of  the  new  territory  is,  to  himself,  an  object  more 
desirable  than  the  preservation  of  his  own  life.  To  him  his  own 
life  is  of  infinitely  more  value  than  the  conquest  of  a whole  king- 
dom for  the  state  which  he  serves.  But  when  he  compares  those 
two  objects  with  one  another,  he  does  not  view  them  in  the  light 
in  which  they  naturally  appear  to  himself,  but  in  that  in  which 
they  appear  to  the  nation  he  fights  for.  To  them  the  success  of 
the  war  is  of  the  highest  importance ; the  life  of  a private  person  of 


THEORY  OF  MORAL  SENTIMENTS  469 

scarce  any  consequence.  When  he  puts  himself  in  their  situa- 
tion, he  immediately  feels  that  he  cannot  be  too  prodigal  of  his 
blood,  if,  by  shedding  it,  he  can  promote  so  valuable  a pur- 
pose. In  thus  thwarting,  from  a sense  of  duty  and  propriety,  the 
strongest  of  all  natural  propensities,  consists  the  heroism  of  his 
conduct.  There  is  many  an  honest  Englisliman,  who,  in  his  pri- 
vate station,  would  be  more  seriously  disturbed  by  the  loss  of  a 
guinea,  than  by  the  loss  of  Minorca,  who  yet,  had  it  been  in  his 
power  to  defend  that  fortress,  would  have  sacrificed  his  life  a 
thousand  times  rather  than,  through  his  fault,  have  let  it  fall  into 
the  hands  of  the  enemy.  When  the  first  Brutus  led  forth  his  own 
sons  to  a capital  punishment,  because  they  had  conspired  against 
the  rising  liberty  of  Rome,  he  sacrificed  what,  if  he  had  consulted 
his  own  breast  only,  would  appear  to  be  the  stronger  to  the  weaker 
affection.  Brutus  ought  naturally  to  have  felt  much  more  for  the 
death  of  his  own  sons,  than  for  all  that  probably  Rome  could 
have  suffered  from  the  want  of  so  great  an  example.  But  he 
viewed  them,  not  with  the  eyes  of  a father,  but  with  those  of  a 
Roman  citizen.  He  entered  so  thoroughly  into  the  sentiments 
of  this  last  character,  that  he  paid  no  regard  to  that  tie,  by  which 
he  himself  was  connected  with  them;  and  to  a Roman  citizen 
the  sons  even  of  Brutus  seemed  contemptible,  when  put  into  the 
balance  with  the  smallest  interest  of  Rome.  In  these  and  in  all 
other  cases  of  this  kind,  our  admiration  is  not  so  much  founded 
upon  the  utility,  as  upon  the  unexpected,  and  on  that  account  the 
great,  the  noble,  and  exalted  propriety  of  such  actions.  This 
utility,  when  we  come  to  view  it,  bestows  upon  them,  undoubt- 
edly, a new  beauty,  and  upon  that  account  still  further  recom- 
mends them  to  our  approbation.  This  beauty,  however,  is 
chiefly  perceived  by  men  of  reflection  and  speculation,  and  is 
by  no  means  the  quality  which  first  recommends  such  actions 
to  the  natural  sentiments  of  the  bulk  of  mankind. 

It  is  to  be  observed  that  so  far  as  the  sentiment  of  approba- 
tion arises  from  the  perception  of  this  beauty  of  utility,  it  has 
no  reference  of  any  kind  to  the  sentiments  of  others.  If  it  was 
possible,  therefore,  that  a person  should  grow  up  to  manhood 
without  any  communication  with  society,  his  own  actions  might. 


470 


ADAM  SMITH 


notwithstanding,  be  agreeable  or  disagreeable  to  him  on  account 
of  their  tendency  to  his  happiness  or  disadvantage.  He  might 
perceive  a beauty  of  this  kind  in  prudence,  temperance,  and 
good  conduct,  and  a deformity  in  the  opposite  behaviour;  he 
might  view  his  own  temper  and  character  with  that  sort  of  satis- 
faction with  which  we  consider  a well-contrived  machine,  in  the 
one  case;  or  with  that  sort  of  distaste  and  dissatisfaction  with 
which  we  regard  a very  awkward  and  clumsy  contrivance,  in  the 
other.  As  these  perceptions,  however,  are  merely  a matter  of 
taste,  and  have  all  the  feebleness  and  delicacy  of  that  species  of 
perceptions,  upon  the  justness  of  which  what  is  properly  called 
taste  is  founded,  they  probably  would  not  be  much  attended 
to  by  one  in  his  solitary  and  miserable  condition.  Even  though 
they  should  occur  to  him,  they  would  by  no  means  have  the  same 
effect  upon  him,  antecedent  to  his  connexion  with  society,  which 
they  would  have  in  consequence  of  that  connexion.  He  would 
not  be  cast  down  with  inward  shame  at  the  thought  of  this  de- 
formity; nor  would  he  be  elevated  with  secret  triumph  of 
mind  from  the  consciousness  of  the  contrary  beauty.  He  would 
not  exult  from  the  notion  of  deserving  reward  in  the  one 
case,  nor  tremble  from  the  suspicion  of  meriting  punishment  in 
the  other.  All  such  sentiments  suppose  the  idea  of  some  other 
being,  who  is  the  natural  judge  of  the  person  that  feels  them; 
and  it  is  only  by  sympathy  with  the  decisions  of  this  arbiter 
of  his  conduct,  that  he  can  conceive,  either  the  triumph  of 
self-applause,  or  the  shame  of  self-condemnation. 


CLAUDE  ADRIEN  HELVETIUS 

(1715-1771) 

DE  L’ESPRIT,  OR,  ESSAYS  ON  THE 
MIND 

Translated  from  the  French  by 
WILLIAM  MUDFORD 

Essay  II.  PROBITY 

CHAPTER  II.  PROBITT  IN  RELATION  TO  THE 
INDIFID  UAL 

It  is  not  real  probity ; that  is  probity  with  regard  to  the  public, 
that  I consider  in  this  chapter;  but  merely  probity  considered 
relatively  to  each  individual. 

In  this  point  of  view,  I say,  that  each  individual  calls  probity 
in  another  only  the  habitual  performance  of  actions  which  are 
useful  to  him : I say  habitual  performance,  because  it  is  not  one 
single  honest  action,  more  than  one  single  ingenious  idea,  that 
will  gain  us  the  title  of  virtuous  and  witty.  There  is  not  that 
penurious  wretch  on  earth  which  has  not  once  behaved  with 
generosity;  nor  a liberal  person  who  has  not  once  been  parsimo- 
nious ; no  villain  who  has  not  done  a good  action ; no  person  so 
stupid  who  has  not  uttered  one  smart  sentence;  and,  in  fine, 
no  man  who,  on  inspecting  certain  actions  of  his  life,  will  not 
seem  possessed  of  all  the  opposite  virtues  and  vices.  A greater 
uniformity  in  the  behaviour  of  men  would  suppose  in  them  a 
continuity  of  attention  which  they  are  incapable  of;  differing 
from  one  another  only  more  or  less.  The  man  of  absolute  uni- 
formity has  no  existence ; for  that  no  perfection,  either  with  regard 
to  vice  or  virtue,  is  to  be  found  on  the  earth. 

It  is  therefore  to  the  habitual  performance  of  actions  advan- 
tageous to  him  that  an  individual  gives  the  name  of  probity : 

* 'From.  De  L' esprit,  Paris,  1758.  Reprinted  from  C.  A.  Helvetius,  De  L'esprit, 
or,  Essays  on  the  Mind,  (tr.)  London,  1807 ; new  ed.  ib.  1810. 


472 


CLAUDE  ADRIEN  HELVETIUS 


I say  of  actions,  because  we  cannot  judge  of  intentions.  How  is 
it  possible?  It  is  seldom  or  never  that  action  is  the  effect  of  a 
sentiment;  we  ourselves  are  often  ignorant  of  the  motives  by 
which  we  are  determined.  A rich  man  bestows  a comfortable 
subsistence  on  a worthy  man  reduced  to  poverty.  Doubtless 
he  does  a good  action ; but  is  this  action  simply  the  effect  of  a 
desire  of  rendering  a man  happy?  Pity,  the  hopes  of  gratitude, 
vanity  itself,  all  these  different  motives,  separately  or  aggregately, 
may  they  not  unknown  to  himself  have  determined  him  to  that 
commendable  action?  Now  if  a man  be  in  general  ignorant 
himself  of  the  motives  of  his  generous  action,  how  can  the  public 
be  acquainted  with  them?  Thus  it  is  only  from  the  actions  of 
men,  that  the  public  can  judge  of  their  probity.  A man  for 
instance  has  twenty  degrees  of  passion  for  virtue;  but  he  has 
thirty  degrees  of  love  for  a woman;  and  this  woman  would  insti- 
gate him  to  be  guilty  of  murder.  Upon  this  supposition,  it  is  cer- 
tain that  this  person  is  nearer  guilt  than  he  who,  with  only  ten 
degrees  of  passion  for  virtue,  has  only  five  degrees  of  love  for  so 
wicked  a woman.  Hence  I conclude  that  of  two  men  the  more 
honest  in  his  actions  has  sometimes  the  less  passion  for  virtue. 

Every  philosopher  also  agrees  that  the  virtue  of  men  greatly 
depends  on  the  circumstances  in  which  they  are  placed.  Vir- 
tuous men  have  too  often  sunk  under  a strange  series  of  unhappy 
events. 

He  who  will  warrant  his  virtue  in  every  possible  situation  is 
either  an  impostor  or  a fool;  characters  equally  to  be  mistrusted. 

After  determining  the  idea  I affix  to  this  word  probity,  con- 
sidered in  relation  to  every  individual,  we  must,  to  assure  our- 
selves of  the  propriety  of  this  definition,  have  recourse  to  ob- 
servation; and  this  will  inform  us  that  there  are  men  whom  a 
happy  disposition,  a strong  desire  of  glory  and  esteem,  inspire 
with  the  same  love  for  justice  and  virtue,  which  men  in  general 
have  for  riches  and  honours. 

The  actions  personally  advantageous  to  these  virtuous  men 
are  so  truly  just  that  they  tend  to  promote  the  general  welfare, 
or,  at  least  not  to  lessen  it. 

But  the  number  of  these  men  is  so  small  that  I only  mention 


ESSAYS  ON  THE  MIND 


473 


them  in  honour  of  humanity.  And  the  most  numerous  class, 
which  alone  comprehends  the  far  greater  part  of  mankind,  is  that 
of  men  so  entirely  devoted  to  their  own  interest  that  they  never 
consider  the  welfare  of  the  whole.  Concentrated,  if  I may  be 
allowed  the  expression,  in  their  own  happiness,  these  men  call 
those  actions  only  honest,  which  are  advantageous  to  themselves. 
A judge  acquits  a criminal,  a minister  prefers  an  unworthy  per- 
son; yet  both  are  just  if  those  they  have  favoured  may  be 
credited.  But  should  the  judge  punish  and  the  minister  refuse, 
the  criminal  and  the  party  denied  will  always  consider  them  as 
unjust. 

If  the  monks,  who,  during  the  first  dynasty,  were  entrusted  to 
write  the  lives  of  our  kings,  have  only  given  those  of  their  bene- 
factors, indicating  the  other  reigns  only  with  these  words,  nihil 
fecit;  and  if  they  have  given  the  name  of  slothful  kings  to  some 
princes  truly  worthy  of  esteem,  it  is  because  a monk  is  a man, 
and  every  man,  in  his  judgment,  consults  only  his  own  interest. 

The  Christians,  who  justly  branded  with  the  name  of  bar- 
barity and  guilt  the  cruelties  inflicted  on  them  by  the  pagans, 
did  not  they  give  the  name  of  zeal  to  the  cruelties  they  in  their 
turn  inflicted  on  those  same  pagans?  It  will,  on  examination, 
be  found  that  there  is  not  a crime  but  is  placed  among  honest 
actions  by  the  societies  to  which  this  crime  is  advantageous; 
nor  an  action  of  public  benefit  that  is  not  censured  by  some 
particular  society  to  which  it  is  detrimental. 

In  effect,  what  man,  if  he  sacrifices  the  pride  of  styling  him- 
self more  virtuous  than  others,  to  the  pride  of  being  more  sin- 
cere; and  if  wdth  a scrupulous  attention  he  searches  all  the 
recesses  of  his  soul,  will  not  perceive  that  his  virtues  and  vices 
are  wholly  owing  to  the  different  modifications  of  personal  inter- 
est; that  all  equally  tend  to  their  happiness;  that  it  is  the  diver- 
sity of  the  passions  and  tastes,  of  wEich  some  are  agreeable, 
and  others  contrary  to  the  public  interest,  which  terms  our  ac- 
tions either  virtues  or  vices?  Instead  of  despising  the  vicious 
man,  w'e  should  pity  him,  rejoice  in  our  own  happy  disposition, 
thank  heaven  for  not  having  given  us  any  of  those  tastes  and 
passions,  which  would  have  forced  us  to  have  sought  our  happi- 


474 


CLAUDE  ADRIEN  HELVfiTIUS 


ness  in  the  misery  of  another.  For  after  all  interest  is  always 
obeyed;  hence  the  injustice  of  all  our  judgments,  and  the  appel- 
lations of  just  and  unjust  are  lavished  on  the  same  actions  ac- 
cording to  the  advantage  resulting  from  them  to  particulars. 

If  the  physical  universe  be  subject  to  the  laws  of  motion,  the 
moral  universe  is  equally  so  to  those  of  interest.  Interest  is  on 
earth  the  mighty  magician  which  to  the  eyes  of  every  creature 
changes  the  appearance  of  all  objects.  Thus  different  interests 
metamorphose  objects : we  consider  the  lion  as  a cruel  animal, 
whereas,  among  the  insects,  it  is  the  sheep;  and  what  Leibnitz 
said  of  the  physical  universe  may  be  applied  to  the  moral.  That 
this  world,  being  constantly  in  motion,  every  instant  offers 
a new  and  different  phenomenon  to  each  of  its  inhabitants. 

This  principle  is  so  agreeable  to  experience,  that,  without 
entering  into  a farther  discussion,  I think  myself  warranted  to 
conclude  that  personal  interest  is  the  only  and  universal  esti- 
mator of  the  merit  of  human  actions;  and  therefore  that  probity 
with  regard  to  an  individual  is,  according  to  my  definition,  no- 
thing more  than  the  habitual  performance  of  actions  personally 
advantageous  to  this  individual. 


CHAPTER  XL  PROBITY  IN  RELATION  TO  THE 

PUBLIC 

I shall  not  in  this  chapter  treat  of  probity  with  respect  to  a par- 
ticular person  or  a private  society;  but  of  true  probity,  of  probity 
considered  in  relation  to  the  public.  This  kind  of  probity  is  the 
only  one  that  really  merits,  and  has  in  general  obtained  the  name. 
It  is  only  considering  it  in  this  point  of  view  that  v/e  can  form 
clear  ideas  of  honesty  and  discover  a guide  to  virtue. 

Now  under  this  aspect  I say  that  the  public,  like  particular 
societies,  is  only  determined  in  its  judgments  by  motives  of  inter- 
est ; that  it  does  not  give  the  name  of  noble  to  great  and  heroic 
actions,  but  to  those  that  are  of  public  use;  and  that  the  esteem 
of  the  public  for  such  and  such  an  action  is  not  proportioned 
to  the  degree  of  strength,  courage,  or  generosity,  necessary  to 


ESSAYS  ON  THE  MIND 


475 

execute  it,  but  to  the  importance  of  that  action,  and  the  public 
advantage  derived  from  it. 

In  fact  when  encouraged  by  the  presence  of  an  army,  one  man 
alone  fights  three  men  who  are  wounded;  this  is  doubtless  a 
brave  action;  but  it  is  what  a thousand  of  our  grenadiers  are  cap- 
able of  and  for  which  they  will  never  be  mentioned  in  history; 
but  when  the  safety  of  an  empire  formed  to  subdue  the  universe 
depends  on  the  success  of  this  battle,  Horatius  is  a hero,  he  is 
the  admiration  of  his  fellow-citizens,  and  his  name,  celebrated  in 
history,  is  handed  down  to  the  most  distant  ages. 

Two  persons  threw  themselves  into  a gulf;  this  was  an  action 
common  to  Sappho  and  Curtius ; but  the  first  did  it  to  put  an 
end  to  the  torments  of  love,  and  the  other  to  save  Rome;  Sappho 
was  therefore  a fool,  and  Curtius  a hero.  In  vain  have  some 
philosophers  given  the  name  of  folly  to  each  of  these  actions; 
the  public  sees  clearer  than  they,  and  never  gives  the  name  of 
fool  to  those  from  whom  it  receives  advantage. 


CHAPTER  XIII.  PROP  ITT  IN  RELATION  TO 
VARIOUS  AGES  AND  NATIONS 

In  all  ages  and  nations  probity  can  be  only  a habit  of  per- 
forming actions  that  are  of  use  to  our  country.  However  certain 
this  proposition  may  be,  to  render  this  truth  the  more  evident, 
I shall  endeavour  to  give  a clear  and  full  idea  of  this  virtue. 

To  this  purpose,  I shall  examine  two  sentiments  on  this  sub- 
ject, that  have  hitherto  divided  the  moralists. 

Some  maintain  that  we  have  an  idea  of  virtue  absolutely  in- 
dependent of  different  ages  and  governments;  and  that  virtue 
is  always  one  and  the  same.  The  others  maintain  on  the  con- 
trary that  every  nation  forms  a different  idea  of  it. 

The  first  bring  in  proof  of  their  opinions  the  ingenious  but 
unintelligible  dreams  of  the  Platonists.  Virtue  according  to 
them  is  nothing  but  the  idea  of  order,  harmony,  and  essential 
beauty.  But  this  beauty  is  a mystery  of  which  they  can  con- 
vey no  fixed  ideas : they  therefore  do  not  establish  their  system 


476  CLAUDE  ADRIEN  HELVi^TIUS 

on  the  knowledge  which  history  affords  us  of  the  human  heart, 
and  the  powers  of  the  mind. 

The  second,  and  amongst  them  Montaigne,  with  arms  more 
strangely  tempered  than  those  of  reasoning,  that  is,  with  facts, 
attack  the  opinion  of  the  first;  prove  that  an  action  virtuous  in 
the  north,  is  vicious  in  the  south ; and  from  thence  conclude, 
that  the  idea  of  virtue  is  merely  arbitrary. 

Such  are  the  opinions  of  these  two  sects  of  philosophers. 
Those,  from  their  not  having  consulted  history,  err  in  a meta- 
physical labyrinth  of  words : these,  from  their  not  having  exam- 
ined with  sufficient  depth  the  facts  presented  by  history,  have 
thought  that  caprice  alone  decided  the  goodness  or  turpitude 
of  human  actions.  These  two  philosophical  sects  are  deceived; 
but  they  would  both  have  escaped  error  had  they  with  an  atten- 
tive eye  considered  the  history  of  the  world.  They  would  then 
have  perceived  that  time  must  necessarily  produce  in  the  phys- 
ical and  moral  world  revolutions  that  change  the  face  of  em- 
pires; that  in  the  great  catastrophes  of  kingdoms,  the  peoples 
always  experience  great  changes;  that  the  same  actions  may 
successively  become  useful  and  prejudicial,  and  consequently, 
by  turns,  assume  the  name  of  virtuous  and  vicious. 

If  in  consequence  of  this  observation  they  would  have  been 
willing  to  form  a mere  abstract  idea  of  virtue,  independent  of 
practice,  they  would  have  acknowledged  that,  by  the  word  virtue 
can  only  be  understood,  a desire  of  the  general  happiness;  that 
consequently  the  public  w^elfare  is  the  object  of  virtue;  and  that 
the  actions  it  enjoins  are  the  means  it  makes  use  of  to  accom- 
plish that  end;  that  therefore  the  idea  of  virtue  is  not  arbi- 
trary; that  in  different  ages  and  countries  all  men,  at  least 
those  who  live  in  society,  ought  to  form  the  same  idea  of  it; 
and  in  short  if  the  people  represent  it  under  different  forms,  it  is 
because  they  take  for  virtue  the  various  means  they  employ  to 
accomplish  the  end. 

This  definition  of  virtue  I think  gives  an  idea  of  it  that  is 
at  once  clear,  simple,  and  conformable  to  experience;  a con- 
formity that  alone  can  establish  the  truth  of  an  opinion. 

The  pyramid  of  Venus-Urania,  whose  top  was  lost  in  the 


ESSAYS  ON  THE  MIND 


477 


clouds  and  whose  base  was  fixed  on  the  earth,  is  the  emblem 
of  all  systems  which  crumble  to  pieces  as  fast  as  they  are  built, 
if  they  are  not  founded  on  the  steady  basis  of  facts  and  experi- 
ence. It  is  therefore  on  facts,  that  is,  on  the  hitherto  inexplicable 
folly  and  fantastical  character  of  the  various  laws  and  customs, 
that  I establish  the  proof  of  my  opinion. 

However  stupid  we  suppose  mankind,  it  is  certain  that  en- 
lightened by  their  own  interest  they  have  not  without  motives 
adopted  the  ridiculous  customs  we  find  established  amongst 
some  of  them.  The  fantastical  nature  of  these  customs  proceeds 
then  from  the  diversity  of  the  interests  of  different  nations.  In 
fact  if  they  have  always,  though  confusedly,  understood  by  the 
word  virtue  the  desire  of  the  public  happiness;  if  they  have  con- 
sequently given  the  name  of  honesty  only  to  actions  useful  to 
the  nation;  and  if  the  idea  of  utility  has  always  been  secretly 
connected  with  the  idea  of  virtue,  we  may  assert,  that  the  most 
ridiculous,  and  even  the  most  cruel  customs,  have  always  had, 
for  their  foundation,  as  I am  going  to  show  by  some  examples, 
either  a real  or  apparent  utility  with  respect  to  the  public  welfare. 

Theft  was  permitted  at  Sparta;  they  only  punished  the  awk- 
wardness of  the  thief  who  was  surprised : could  anything  be  more 
absurd  than  this  custom?  However,  if  we  call  to  mind  the 
laws  of  Lycurgus,  and  the  contempt  shown  for  gold  and  silver 
in  a country  where  the  laws  allowed  the  circulation  of  no  other 
money  than  that  of  a kind  of  heavy  brittle  iron,  it  will  appear 
that  poultry  and  pulse  were  almost  the  only  things  that  could  be 
stolen.  These  thefts  being  always  performed  with  address  and 
frequently  denied  with  firmness,  they  enured  the  Lacedemonians 
to  a habit  of  courage  and  vigilance ; the  law  then  which  allowed 
of  stealing,  might  be  very  useful  to  that  people,  who  had  as  much 
reason  to  be  afraid  of  the  treachery  of  the  Ilotes,  as  of  the  am- 
bition of  the  Persians ; and  could  only  oppose  against  the  attempts 
of  the  one,  and  the  innumerable  armies  of  the  other,  the  bulwark 
of  these  two  virtues.  It  is  therefore  certain  that  theft,  which  is 
always  prejudicial  to  a rich  people,  was  of  use  to  Sparta  and 
therefore  properly  honoured. 


478  CLAUDE  ADRIEN  HELV^TIUS 

In  conformity  with  my  reasonings,  all  the  facts  I have  just 
cited  concur  to  prove  that  the  customs,  even  the  most  foolish 
and  the  most  cruel,  have  always  their  source  in  the  real  or  ap- 
parent utility  of  the  public. 

But  it  is  said  that  these  customs  are  not  on  this  account  the 
less  odious  or  ridiculous.  It  is  true.  But  it  is  only  because  we 
are  ignorant  of  the  motives  of  their  establishment ; and  because 
these  customs  consecrated  by  antiquity  and  superstition  sub- 
sisted here  by  negligence,  or  the  weakness  of  government,  long 
after  the  causes  of  their  establishment  were  removed. 

When  France  was  in  a manner  only  a vast  forest,  who  doubts 
that  those  donations  of  uncultivated  lands  made  to  the  religious 
orders  ought  then  to  have  been  permitted : and  that  the  pro- 
longation of  such  a permission  would  not  now  be  as  absurd  and 
injurious  to  the  state,  as  it  might  be  wise  and  useful  when  France 
was  uncultivated  ? All  the  customs  that  procure  only  transient 
advantages  are  like  scaffolds  that  should  be  pulled  down  when 
the  palaces  are  raised. 

The  interest  of  states  like  all  human  things  is  subject  to  a 
thousand  revolutions.  The  same  laws  and  the  same  customs 
become  successively  useful  and  prejudicial  to  the  same  people; 
whence  I conclude  that  these  laws  ought  by  turns  to  be  adopted 
and  rejected,  and  that  the  same  actions  ought  successively  to 
bear  the  names  of  virtuous  and  vicious;  a proposition  that  cannot 
be  denied  without  confessing  that  there  are  actions,  which  at 
one  and  the  same  time  are  virtuous  and  prejudicial  to  the  state, 
and  consequently  without  sapping  the  foundations  of  all  govern- 
ment and  all  society. 

The  general  conclusion  of  all  I have  just  said  is,  that  virtue 
is  only  the  desire  of  the  happiness  of  mankind;  and  that  pro- 
bity, which  I consider  as  virtue  put  into  action,  is  among  all 
people,  and  in  all  the  various  governments  of  the  world,  only 
the  habit  of  performing  actions  useful  to  our  country. 


WILLIAM  PALEY 

(1743-1805) 

THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  MORAL  AND 
POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY* 

BOOK  1.  CHAPTER  VII 

Virtue  is,  “ the  doing  good  to  mankind,  in  obedience  to  the  will 
of  God,  and  for  the  sake  of  everlasting  happiness.” 

According  to  which  definition,  “the  good  of  mankind”  is  the 
subject,  the  “will  of  God”  the  rule,  and  “everlasting  happiness” 
the  motive  of  human  virtue. 


BOOK  II.  CHAPTER  I 

Why  am  I obliged  to  keep  my  word?  Because  it  is  right,  says 
one.  — Because  it  is  agreeable  to  the  fitness  of  things,  says  an- 
other. — Because  it  is  conformable  to  reason  and  nature,  says 
a third.  — Because  it  is  conformable  to  truth,  says  a fourth.  — 
Because  it  promotes  the  public  good,  says  a fifth.  — Because  it 
is  required  by  the  will  of  God,  concludes  a sixth. 

Upon  which  different  accounts,  two  things  are  observable: 

First,  that  they  all  ultimately  coincide. 

The  fitness  of  things  means  their  fitness  to  produce  happiness : 
the  nature  of  things  means  that  actual  constitution  of  the  world, 
by  which  some  things,  as  such  and  such  actions,  for  example, 
produce  happiness,  and  others  misery:  reason  is  the  principle, 
by  which  we  discover  or  judge  of  this  constitution;  truth  is 
this  judgment  expressed  or  drawn  out  into  propositions.  So 
that  it  necessarily  comes  to  pass,  that  what  promotes  the  public 
happiness,  or  happiness  upon  the  whole,  is  agreeable  to  the  fit- 
ness of  things,  to  nature,  to  reason,  and  to  truth;  and  such  (as 

* First  edition,  London,  1785. 


48o 


WILLIAM  PALLY 


will  appear  by  and  by)  is  the  divine  character,  that  what  pro- 
motes the  general  happiness  is  required  by  the  will  of  God ; and 
what  has  all  the  above  properties  must  needs  be  right : for  right 
means  no  more  than  conformity  to  the  rule  we  go  by,  whatever 
that  rule  be.  And  this  is  the  reason  that  moralists,  from  what- 
ever different  principles  they  set  out,  commonly  meet  in  their 
conclusions;  that  is,  they  enjoin  the  same  conduct,  prescribe  the 
same  rules  of  duty,  and,  with  a few  exceptions,  deliver  upon 
dubious  cases  the  same  determinations. 

Secondly,  it  is  to  be  observed,  that  these  answers  all  leave  the 
matter  short;  for  the  enquirer  may  turn  round  upon  his  teacher 
with  a second  question,  in  which  he  will  expect  to  be  satisfied, 
namely,  why  am  I obliged  to  do  what  is  right;  to  act  agreeably 
to  the  fitness  of  things;  to  conform  to  reason,  nature,  or  truth; 
to  promote  the  public  good,  or  to  obey  the  will  of  God? 

The  proper  method  of  conducting  the  enquiry  is.  First,  to 
examine  what  we  mean,  when  we  say  a man  is  obliged  to  do  any 
thing,  and  then  to  shew  why  he  is  obliged  to  do  the  thing  which 
we  have  proposed  as  an  example,  namely,  “to  keep  his  word.” 


CHAPTER  II 

A man  is  said  to  be  obliged,  “ when  he  is  urged  by  a violent 
motive  resulting  from  the  command  of  another.” 

I.  “The  motive  must  be  violent.”  If  a person,  who  has  done 
me  some  little  service,  or  has  a small  place  in  his  disposal,  ask 
me  for  my  vote  upon  some  occasion,  I may  possibly  give  it  him, 
from  a motive  of  gratitude  or  expectation;  but  I should  hardly 
say,  that  I was  obliged  to  give  it  him,  because  the  inducement 
does  not  rise  high  enough.  Whereas,  if  a father  or  a master,  any 
great  benefactor,  or  one  on  whom  my  fortune  depends,  require 
my  vote,  I give  it  him  of  course;  and  my  answer  to  all  who  ask 
me  why  I voted  so  and  so,  is,  that  my  father  or  my  master  obliged 
me;  that  I had  received  so  many  favours  from,  or  had  so  great 
a dependence  upon  such  a one,  that  I was  obliged  to  vote  as  he 
directed  me. 


MORAL  AND  POLITICAL  PHILOSOPHY  481 

I 

Secondly,  “It  must  result  from  the  command  of  another.” 
Offer  a man  a gratuity  for  doing  any  thing,  for  seizing,  for  ex- 
ample, an  offender,  he  is  not  obliged  by  your  offer  to  do  it;  nor 
would  he  say  he  is;  though  he  may  be  induced,  persuaded,  pre- 
vailed upon,  tempted.  If  a magistrate,  or  the  man’s  immediate 
superior  command  it,  he  considers  himself  as  obliged  to  comply, 
though  possibly  he  would  lose  less  by  a refusal  in  this  case,  than 
in  the  former.  I will  not  undertake  to  say  that  the  words  obliga- 
tion and  obliged  are  used  uniformly  in  this  sense,  or  always  with 
this  distinction;  nor  is  it  possible  to  tie  down  popular  phrases 
to  any  constant  signification : but,  wherever  the  motive  is  violent 
enough,  and  coupled  with  the  idea  of  command,  authority,  law, 
or  the  will  of  a superior,  there,  I take  it,  we  always  reckon  our- 
selves to  be  obliged. 

And  from  this  account  of  obligation  it  follows,  that  we  can  be 
obliged  to  nothing,  but  what  we  ourselves  are  to  gain  or  lose 
something  by;  for  nothing  else  can  be  a “violent  motive”  to  us. 
As  we  should  not  be  obliged  to  obey  the  laws,  or  the  magistrate, 
unless  rewards  or  punishments,  pleasure  or  pain,  somehow  or 
other  depended  upon  our  obedience;  so  neither  should  we,  with- 
out the  same  reason,  be  obliged  to  do  what  is  right,  to  practise 
virtue,  or  to  obey  the  commands  of  God. 


CHAPTER  III 

Let  it  be  remembered,  that  to  be  obliged,  “ is  to  be  urged  by 
a violent  motive,  resulting  from  the  command  of  another.”  And 
then  let  it  be  asked.  Why  am  I obliged  to  keep  my  word  ? and  the 
answer  will  be,  because  I am  “ urged  to  do  so  by  a violent  mo- 
tive,” (namely,  the  expectation  of  being  after  this  life  rewarded, 
if  I do,  or  punished  for  it,  if  I do  not)  “resulting  from  the  com- 
mand of  another,”  (namely,  of  God).  This  solution  goes  to  the 
bottom  of  the  subject,  as  no  farther  question  can  reasonably  be 
asked. 

Therefore,  private  happiness  is  our  motive,  and  the  will  of 
God  our  rule. 


WILLIAM  PALLY 


482 

When  I first  turned  my  thoughts  to  moral  speculations,  an  air 
of  mystery  seemed  to  hang  over  the  whole  subject;  which  arose, 
I believe,  from  hence  — that  I supposed,  with  many  authors 
whom  I had  read,  that  to  be  obliged  to  do  a thing,  was  very  dif- 
ferent from  being  induced  only  to  do  it;  and  that  the  obligation 
to  practise  virtue,  to  do  what  is  right,  just,  etc.,  was  quite  another 
thing,  and  of  another  kind,  than  the  obligation  which  a soldier 
is  under  to  obey  his  officer,  a servant  his  master,  or  any  of  the 
civil  and  ordinary  obligations  of  human  life.  Whereas,  from  what 
has  been  said  it  appears,  that  moral  obligation  is  like  all  other 
obligations ; and  that  all  obligation  is  nothing  more  than  an  in- 
ducement of  sufficient  strength,  and  resulting,  in  some  way,  from 
the  command  of  another. 

There  is  always  understood  to  be  a difference  between  an  act 
of  prudence  and  an  act  of  duty.  Thus,  if  I distrusted  a man  who 
owed  me  money,  I should  reckon  it  an  act  of  prudence  to  get 
another  bound  with  him;  but  I should  hardly  call  it  an  act  of 
duty.  On  the  other  hand,  it  would  be  thought  a very  unusual  and 
loose  kind  of  language,  to  say,  that,  as  I had  made  such  a promise, 
it  was  prudent  to  perform  it;  or  that  as  my  friend,  when  he  went 
abroad,  placed  a box  of  jewels  in  my  hands,  it  would  be  prudent 
in  me  to  preserve  it  for  him  till  he  returned. 

Now,  in  what,  you  will  ask,  does  the  difference  consist?  In- 
asmuch, as  according  to  our  account  of  the  matter,  both  in  the 
one  case  and  the  other,  in  acts  of  duty  as  well  as  acts  of  prudence, 
we  consider  solely  what  we  shall  gain  or  lose  by  the  act?  The 
difference,  and  the  only  difference,  is  this;  that,  in  the  one  case 
we  consider  what  we  shall  gain  or  lose  in  the  present  world ; in 
the  other  case,  we  consider  also  what  we  shall  gain  or  lose  in  the 
world  to  come. 

Those  who  would  establish  a system  of  morality,  independent 
of  a future  state,  must  look  out  for  some  different  idea  of  moral 
obligation;  unless  they  can  show  that  virtue  conducts  the  pos- 
sessor to  certain  happiness  in  this  life,  or  to  a much  greater  share 
of  it,  than  he  could  attain  by  a different  behaviour. 


JEREMY  BENTHAM 

(1748-1832) 

AN  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  PRINCI- 
PLES OF  MORALS  AND  LEGISLATION* 

CHAPTER  /.  OF  THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  UTIL  ITT 

I,  Nature  has  placed  mankind  under  the  governance  of  two 
sovereign  masters,  pain  and  pleasure.  It  is  for  them  alone  to 
point  out  what  we  ought  to  do,  as  well  as  to  determine  what  we 
shall  do.  On  the  one  hand  the  standard  of  right  and  wrong, 
on  the  other  the  chain  of  causes  and  effects,  are  fastened  to  their 
throne.  They  govern  us  in  all  we  do,  in  all  we  say,  in  all  we 
think;  every  effort  we  can  make  to  throw  off  our  subjection,  will 
serve  but  to  demonstrate  and  confirm  it.  In  words  a man  may 
pretend  to  abjure  their  empire;  but  in  reality  he  wilt  remain 
subject  to  it  all  the  w'hile.  The  principle  of  utility  ^ recognizes 
the  subjection,  and  assumes  it  for  the  foundation  of  that  system, 
the  object  of  which  is  to  rear  the  fabric  of  felicity  by  the  hands 
of  reason  and  of  law.  Systems  which  attempt  to  question  it,  deal 
in  sounds  instead  of  sense,  in  caprice  instead  of  reason,  in  dark- 
ness instead  of  light. 

* First  printed,  London,  1780;  first  published,  ib.  1789;  corr.  ed.  ib.  1823. 

* Note  by  the  Author,  July,  1812. 

To  this  denomination  has  of  late  been  added,  or  substituted,  the  greatest 
happiness  or  greatest  jelicity  principle : this  for  shortness,  instead  of  saying  at 
length  that  principle  which  states  the  greatest  happiness  of  all  those  whose  inter- 
est is  in  question,  as  being  the  right  and  proper,  and  only  right  and  proper  and 
universally  desirable,  end  of  human  action ; of  human  action  in  every  situation, 
and  in  particular  in  that  of  a functionary  or  set  of  functionaries  exercising  the 
powers  of  government.  The  word  utility  does  not  so  clearly  point  to  the  ideas 
of  pleasure  and  pain  as  the  words  happiness  and  jelicity  do : nor  does  it  lead  us 
to  the  consideration  of  the  number,  of  the  interests  affected;  to  the  number,  as 
being  the  circumstance,  which  contributes,  in  the  largest  proportion,  to  the  for- 
mation of  the  standard  here  in  question;  the  standard  oj  right  and  wrong,  by 
which  alone  the  propriety  of  human  conduct,  in  every  situation,  can  with  pro- 
priety be  tried.  This  want  of  a sufficiently  manifest  connexion  between  the  ideas 
of  happiness  and  pleasure  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  idea  of  utility  on  the  other, 

I have  every  now  and  then  found  operating,  and  with  but  too  much  efficiency,  as 
a bar  to  the  acceptance,  that  might  otherwise  have  been  given,  to  this  principle. 


484  JEREMY  BENTHAM 

But  enough  of  metaphor  and  declamation : it  is  not  by  such 
means  that  moral  science  is  to  be  improved. 

II.  The  principle  of  utility  is  the  foundation  of  the  present 
work;  it  will  be  proper  therefore  at  the  outset  to  give  an  ex- 
plicit and  determinate  account  of  what  is  meant  by  it.  By  the 
principle  of  utility  is  meant  that  principle  which  approves  or 
disapproves  of  every  action  whatsoever,  according  to  the  tend- 
ency which  it  appears  to  have  to  augment  or  diminish  the  happi- 
ness of  the  party  whose  interest  is  in  question;  or,  what  is  the 
same  thing  in  other  words,  to  promote  or  to  oppose  that  happi- 
ness. I say  of  every  action  whatsoever;  and  therefore  not  only 
of  every  action  of  a private  individual,  but  of  every  measure  of 
government. 

III.  By  utility  is  meant  that  property  in  any  object,  whereby 
it  tends  to  produce  benefit,  advantage,  pleasure,. good,  or  happi- 
ness, (all  this  in  the  present  case  comes  to  the  same  thing)  or 
(what  comes  again  to  the  same  thing)  to  prevent  the  happening 
of  mischief,  pain,  evil,  or  unhappiness  to  the  party  whose  inter- 
est is  considered : if  that  party  be  the  community  in  general,  then 
the  happiness  of  the  community : if  a particular  individual,  then 
the  happiness  of  that  individual. 

IV.  The  interest  of  the  community  is  one  of  the  most  general 
expressions  that  can  occur  in  the  phraseology  of  morals ; no  won- 
der that  the  meaning  of  it  is  often  lost.  When  it  has  a meaning, 
it  is  this.  The  community  is  a fictitious  body,  composed  of  the 
individual  persons  who  are  considered  as  constituting  as  it  were 
its  members.  The  interest  of  the  community  then  is,  what?  — 
the  sum  of  the  interests  of  the  several  members  who  compose  it. 

V.  It  is  in  vain  to  talk  of  the  interest  of  the  community,  without 
understanding  what  is  the  interest  of  the  individual.  A thing 
is  said  to  promote  the  interest,  or  to  be  for  the  interest,  of  an  in- 
dividual, when  it  tends  to  add  to  the  sum  total  of  his  pleasures : 
or,  what  comes  to  the  same  thing,  to  diminish  the  sum  total  of 
his  pains. 

VI.  An  action  then  may  be  said  to  be  conformable  to  the  prin- 
ciple of  utility,  or,  for  shortness’  sake,  to  utility,  (meaning  with 
respect  to  the  community  at  large)  when  the  tendency  it  has  to 


MORALS  AND  LEGISLATION  485 

augment  the  happiness  of  the  community  is  greater  than  any 
it  has  to  diminish  it. 

VII.  A measure  of  government  (which  is  but  a particular  kind 
of  action,  performed  by  a particular  person  or  persons)  may  be 
said  to  be  conformable  to  or  dictated  by  the  principle  of  utility, 
when  in  like  manner  the  tendency  which  it  has  to  augment  the 
happiness  of  the  community  is  greater  than  any  which  it  has  to 
diminish  it. 

VIII.  When  an  action,  or  in  particular  a measure  of  govern- 
ment, is  supposed  by  a man  to  be  conformable  to  the  principle 
of  utility,  it  may  be  convenient,  for  the  purposes  of  discourse, 
to  imagine  a kind  of  law  or  dictate,  called  a law  or  dictate  of 
utility : and  to  speak  of  the  action  in  question,  as  being  conform- 
able to  such  law  or  dictate. 

IX.  A man  may  be  said  to  be  a partizan  of  the  principle  of 
utility,  when  the  approbation  or  disapprobation  he  annexes  to 
any  action,  or  to  any  measure,  is  determined  by  and  propor- 
tioned to  the  tendency  which  he  conceives  it  to  have  to  augment 
or  to  diminish  the  happiness  of  the  community : or  in  other  words, 
to  its  conformity  or  unconformity  to  the  laws  or  dictates  of  utility. 

X.  Of  an  action  that  is  conformable  to  the  principle  of  utility, 
one  may  always  say  either  that  it  is  one  that  ought  to  be  done, 
or  at  least  that  it  is  not  one  that  ought  not  to  be  done.  One 
may  say  also,  that  it  is  right  it  should  be  done;  at  least  that  it  is 
not  wrong  it  should  be  done : that  it  is  a right  action ; at  least  that 
it  is  not  a wrong  action.  When  thus  interpreted,  the  words  ought, 
and  right  and  wrong,  and  others  of  that  stamp,  have  a meaning : 
when  otherwise,  they  have  none. 

XI.  Has  the  rectitude  of  this  principle  been  ever  formally 
contested?  It  should  seem  that  it  had,  by  those  who  have  not 
known  what  they  have  been  meaning.  Is  it  susceptible  of  any 
direct  proof?  It  should  seem  not,  for  that  which  is  used  to  prove 
everything  else,  cannot  itself  be  proved;  a chain  of  proofs  must 
have  their  commencement  somewhere.  To  give  such  proof  is  as 
imipossible  as  it  is  needless. 

XII.  Not  that  there  is  or  ever  has  been  that  human  creature 
breathing,  however  stupid  or  perverse,  who  has  not  on  many, 


486  JEREMY  BENTHAM 

perhaps  on  most  occasions  of  his  life,  deferred  to  it.  By  the 
natural  constitution  of  the  human  frame,  on  most  occasions  of 
their  lives  men  in  general  embrace  this  principle,  without 
thinking  of  it;  if  not  for  the  ordering  of  their  own  actions,  yet 
for  the  trying  of  their  own  actions,  as  well  as  of  those  of  other 
men.  There  have  been,  at  the  same  time,  not  many,  perhaps, 
even  of  the  most  intelligent,  who  have  been  disposed  to  embrace 
it  purely  and  without  reserve.  There  are  even  few  who  have  not 
taken  some  occasion  or  other  to  quarrel  with  it,  either  on  account 
of  their  not  understanding  always  how  to  apply  it,  or  on  account 
of  some  prejudice  or  other  which  they  were  afraid  to  examine 
into,  or  could  not  bear  to  part  with.  For  such  is  the  stuff  that 
man  is  made  of : in  principle  and  in  practice,  in  a right  track  and 
in  a wrong  one,  the  rarest  of  all  human  qualities  is  consistency. 

XIII.  When  a man  attempts  to  combat  the  principle  of  utility, 
it  is  with  reasons  drawn,  without  his  being  aware  of  it,  from 
that  very  principle  itself.  His  arguments,  if  they  prove  any- 
thing, prove  not  that  the  principle  is  wrong,  but  that,  according 
to  the  applications  he  supposes  to  be  made  of  it,  it  is  misapplied. 
Is  it  possible  for  a man  to  move  the  earth?  Yes;  but  he  must 
first  find  out  another  earth  to  stand  upon. 

To  disprove  the  propriety  of  it  by  arguments  is  impossible; 
but,  from  the  causes  that  have  been  mentioned,  or  from  some 
confused  or  partial  view  of  it,  a man  may  happen  to  be  disposed 
not  to  relish  it.  Where  this  is  the  case,  if  he  thinks  the  settling 
of  his  opinions  on  such  a subject  worth  the  trouble,  let  him  take 
the  following  steps,  and  at  length,  perhaps,  he  may  come  to 
reconcile  himself  to  it. 

1.  Let  him  settle  with  himself,  whether  he  would  wish  to  discard 
this  principle  altogether;  if  so,  let  him  consider  what  it  is  that  all 
his  reasonings  (in  matters  of  politics  especially)  can  amount  to? 

2.  If  he  would,  let  him  settle  with  himself,  whether  he  would 
judge  and  act  without  any  principle,  or  whether  there  is  any 
other  he  would  judge  and  act  by? 

3.  If  there  be,  let  him  examine  and  satisfy  himself  whether 
the  principle  he  thinks  he  has  found  is  really  any  separate 
intelligible  principle;  or  whether  it  be  not  a mere  principle  in 


MORALS  AND  LEGISLATION 


487 

words,  a kind  of  phrase,  which  at  bottom  expresses  neither 
more  nor  less  than  the  mere  averment  of  his  own  unfounded 
sentiments;  that  is,  what  in  another  person  he  might  be  apt  to 
call  caprice? 

4.  If  he  is  inclined  to  think  that  his  own  approbation  or  dis- 
approbation, annexed  to  the  idea  of  an  act,  without  any  regard 
to  its  consequences,  is  a sufficient  foundation  for  him  to  judge 
and  act  upon,  let  him  ask  himself  whether  his  sentiment  is  to  be 
a standard  of  right  and  wrong,  with  respect  to  every  other  man, 
or  whether  every  man’s  sentiment  has  the  same  privilege  of  being 
a standard  to  itself? 

5.  In  the  first  case,  let  him  ask  himself  whether  his  principle 
is  not  despotical,  and  hostile  to  all  the  rest  of  the  human  race  ? 

6.  In  the  second  case,  whether  it  is  not  anarchical,  and 
whether  at  this  rate  there  are  not  as  many  different  standards  of 
right  and  wrong  as  there  are  men  ? and  whether  even  to  the  same 
man,  the  same  thing,  which  is  right  to-day,  may  not  (without 
the  least  change  in  its  nature)  be  wrong  to-morrow  ? and  whether 
the  same  thing  is  not  right  and  wrong  in  the  same  place  at  the 
same  time  ? and  in  either  case,  whether  all  argument  is  not  at 
an  end?  and  whether,  when  two  men  have  said,  “I  like  this,” 
and  “I  don’t  like  it,”  they  can  (upon  such  principle)  have  any- 
thing more  to  say  ? 

7.  If  he  should  have  said  to  himself.  No;  for  that  the  sen- 
timent which  he  proposes  as  a standard  must  be  grounded  on 
reflection,  let  him  say  on  what  particulars  the  reflection  is  to  turn  ? 
if  on  particulars  having  relation  to  the  utility  of  the  act,  then  let 
him  say  whether  this  is  not  deserting  his  own  principle,  and  bor- 
rowing assistance  from  that  very  one  in  opposition  to  which  he 
sets  it  up ; or  if  not  on  those  particulars,  on  what  other  particulars  ? 

8.  If  he  should  be  for  compounding  the  matter,  and  adopting 
his  own  principle  in  part,  and  the  principle  of  utility  in  part, 
let  him  say  how  far  he  will  adopt  it? 

g.  When  he  has  settled  with  himself  where  he  will  stop,  then 
let  him  ask  himself  how  he  justifies  to  himself  the  adopting  it  so 
far  ? and  why  he  will  not  adopt  it  any  farther  ? 

10.  Admitting  any  other  principle  than  the  principle  of 


488  JEREMY  BENTHAM 

utility  to  be  a right  principle,  a principle  that  it  is  right  for  a 
man  to  pursue;  admitting  (what  is  not  true)  that  the  word  right 
can  have  a meaning  without  reference  to  utility,  let  him  say 
whether  there  is  any  such  thing  as  a motive  that  a man  can  have 
to  pursue  the  dictates  of  it:  if  there  is,  let  him  say  what  that 
motive  is,  and  how  it  is  to  be  distinguished  from  those  which 
enforce  the  dictates  of  utility:  if  not,  then  lastly  let  him  say  what 
it  is  this  other  principle  can  be  good  for  ? 

CHAPTER  II.  OF  PRINCIPLES  ADVERSE  TO  THAT 
OF  UTILITT 

I.  If  the  principle  of  utility  be  a right  principle  to  be  governed 
by,  and  that  in  all  cases,  it  follows  from  what  has  been  just  ob- 
served, that  whatever  principle  differs  from  it  in  any  case  must 
necessarily  be  a wrong  one.  To  prove  any  other  principle,  there- 
fore, to  be  a wrong  one,  there  needs  no  more  than  just  to  show 
it  to  be  what  it  is,  a principle  of  which  the  dictates  are  in  some 
point  or  other  different  from  those  of  the  principle  of  utility: 
to  state  it  is  to  confute  it. 

II.  A principle  may  be  different  from  that  of  utility  in  two 
ways : i.  By  being  constantly  opposed  to  it:  this  is  the  case  with 
a principle  whch  may  be  termed  the  principle  of  asceticism. 
2.  By  being  sometimes  opposed  to  it,  and  sometimes  not,  as  it 
may  happen : this  is  the  case  with  another,  which  may  be  termed 
the  principle  of  sympathy  and  antipathy. 

III.  By  the  principle  of  asceticism  I mean  that  principle, 
which,  like  the  principle  of  utility,  approves  or  disapproves 
of  any  action,  according  to  the  tendency  which  it  appears  to 
have  to  augment  or  diminish  the  happiness  of  the  party  whose 
interest  is  in  question ; but  in  an  inverse  manner : approving  of 
actions  in  as  far  as  they  tend  to  diminish  his  happiness;  disap- 
proving of  them  in  as  far  as  they  tend  to  augment  it. 

IX.  The  principle  of  asceticism  seems  originally  to  have  been 
the  reverie  of  certain  hasty  speculators,  who  having  perceived, 


MORALS  AND  LEGISLATION  489 

or  fancied,  that  certain  pleasures,  when  reaped  in  certain  cir- 
cumstances, have,  at  the  long  run,  been  attended  with  pains  more 
than  equivalent  to  them,  took  occasion  to  quarrel  with  everything 
that  offered  itself  under  the  name  of  pleasure.  Having  then  got 
thus  far,  and  having  forgot  the  point  which  they  set  out  from, 
they  pushed  on,  and  went  so  much  further  as  to  think  it  meritori- 
ous to  fall  in  love  with  pain.  Even  this,  we  see,  is  at  bottom  but 
the  principle  of  utility  misapplied. 

X.  The  principle  of  utility  is  capable  of  being  consistently 
pursued;  and  it  is  but  tautology  to  say,  that  the  more  consist- 
ently it  is  pursued,  the  better  it  must  ever  be  for  humankind. 
The  principle  of  asceticism  never  was,  nor  ever  can  be,  con- 
sistently pursued  by  any  living  creature.  Let  but  one  tenth 
part  of  the  inhabitants  of  this  earth  pursue  it  consistently,  and 
in  a day’s  time  they  will  have  turned  it  into  a hell. 

XI.  Among  principles  adverse  to  that  of  utility,  that  which 
at  this  day  seems  to  have  most  influence  in  matters  of  gov- 
ernment, is  what  may  be  called  the  principle  of  sympathy  and 
antipathy.  By  the  principle  of  sympathy  and  antipathy,  I mean 
that  principle  which  approves  or  disapproves  of  certain  actions, 
not  on  account  of  their  tending  to  augment  the  happiness,  nor 
yet  on  account  of  their  tending  to  diminish  the  happiness  of  the 
party  whose  interest  is  in  question,  but  merely  because  a man 
finds  himself  disposed  to  approve  or  disapprove  of  them : holding 
up  that  approbation  or  disapprobation  as  a sufficient  reason  for 
itself,  and  disclaiming  the  necessity  of  looking  out  for  any  ex- 
trinsic ground.  Thus  far  in  the  general  department  of  morals ; 
and  in  the  particular  department  of  politics,  measuring  out  the 
quantum  (as  well  as  determining  the  ground)  of  punishment, 
by  the  degree  of  the  disapprobation. 

XII.  It  is  manifest,  that  this  is  rather  a principle  in  name 
than  in  reality ; it  is  not  a positive  principle  of  itself,  so  much  as 
a term  employed  to  signify  the  negation  of  all  principle.  What  one 
expects  to  find  in  a principle  is  something  that  points  out  some 
external  consideration,  as  a means  of  warranting  and  guiding 
the  internal  sentiments  of  approbation  and  disapprobation; 
this  expectation  is  but  ill  fulfilled  by  a proposition,  which  does 


490  JEREMY  BENTHAM 

neither  more  nor  less  than  hold  up  each  of  those  sentiments  as  a 
ground  and  standard  for  itself. 

XIII.  In  looking  over  the  catalogue  of  human  actions  (says 
a partizan  of  this  principle)  in  order  to  determine  which  of  them 
are  to  be  marked  with  the  seal  of  disapprobation,  you  need  but  to 
take  counsel  of  your  own  feelings : whatever  you  find  in  yourself 
a propensity  to  condemn,  is  wrong  for  that  very  reason.  For  the 
same  reason  it  is  also  meet  for  punishment : in  what  proportion 
it  is  adverse  to  utility,  or  whether  it  be  adverse  to  utility  at  all, 
is  a matter  that  makes  no  difference.  In  that  same  proportion 
also  is  it  meet  for  punishment;  if  you  hate  much,  punish  much; 
if  you  hate  little,  punish  little;  punish  as  you  hate.  If  you  hate 
not  at  all,  punish  not  at  all ; the  fine  feelings  of  the  soul  are  not 
to  be  overborne  and  tyrannized  by  the  harsh  and  rugged  dictates 
of  political  utility. 

XIV.  The  various  systems  that  have  been  formed  concerning 
the  standard  of  right  and  wrong,  may  all  be  reduced  to  the  prin- 
ciple of  sympathy  and  antipathy.  One  account  may  serve  for  all 
of  them.  They  consist  all  of  them  in  so  many  contrivances  for 
avoiding  the  obligation  of  appealing  to  any  external  standard, 
and  for  prevailing  upon  the  reader  to  accept  of  the  author’s  senti- 
ment or  opinion  as  a reason  for  itself.  The  phrases  different, 
but  the  principle  the  same.* 

1 It  is  curious  enough  to  observe  the  variety  of  inventions  men  have  hit  upon, 
and  the  variety  of  phrases  they  have  brought  forward,  in  order  to  conceal  from 
the  world,  and,  if  possible,  from  themselves,  this  very  general  and  therefore  very 
pardonable  self-sufficiency. 

1.  One  man  says,  he  has  a thing  made  on  purpose  to  tell  him  what  is  right  and 
what  is  wrong;  and  that  it  is  called  a moral  sense:  and  then  he  goes  to  work  at 
his  ease,  and  says,  such  a thing  is  right,  and  such  a thing  is  wrong  — why? 
“ because  my  moral  sense  tells  me  it  is.” 

2.  Another  man  comes  and  alters  the  phrase:  leaving  out  moral,  and  putting 
in  common,  in  the  room  of  it.  He  then  tells  you,  that  his  common  sense  teaches 
him  what  is  right  and  wrong,  as  surely  as  the  other’s  moral  sense  did:  meaning 
by  common  sense,  a sense  of  some  kind  or  other,  which,  he  says,  is  possessed  by 
all  mankind : the  sense  of  those,  whose  sense  is  not  the  same  as  the  author’s, 
being  struck  out  of  the  account  as  not  worth  taking.  This  contrivance  does  better 
than  the  other;  for  a moral  sense,  being  a new  thing,  a man  may  feel  about  him 
a good  while  without  being  able  to  find  it  out : but  common  sense  is  as  old  as 
the  creation;  and  there  is  no  man  but  would  be  ashamed  to  be  thought  not  to 
have  as  much  of  it  as  his  neighbours.  It  has  another  great  advantage : by  appear- 


MORALS  AND  LEGISLATION 


491 


XV.  It  is  manifest,  that  the  dictates  of  this  principle  will 
frequently  coincide  with  those  of  utility,  though  perhaps  without 
intending  any  such  thing.  Probably  more  frequently  than  not : 
and  hence  it  is  that  the  business  of  penal  justice  is  carried  on 
upon  that  tolerable  sort  of  footing  upon  which  we  see  it  carried 
on  in  common  at  this  day.  For  what  more  natural  or  more 

ing  to  share  power,  it  lesse'lis  envy:  for  when  a man  gets  up  upon  this  ground,  in 
order  to  anathematize  those  who  differ  from  him,  it  is  not  by  a sic  volo  sic  jubeo, 
but  by  a velilis  jubeatis. 

3.  Another  man  comes,  and  says,  that  as  to  a moral  sense  indeed,  he  cannot 
find  that  he  has  any  such  thing:  that  however  he  has  an  understanding,  which 
will  do  quite  as  well.  This  understanding,  he  says,  is  the  standard  of  right  and 
wrong:  it  tells  him  so  and  so.  All  good  and  wise  men  understand  as  he  does:  if 
other  men’s  understandings  differ  in  any  point  from  his,  so  much  the  worse  for 
them : it  is  a sure  sign  they  are  either  defective  or  corrupt. 

4.  Another  man  says,  that  there  is  an  eternal  and  immutable  Rule  of  Right: 
that  that  rule  of  right  dictates  so  and  so : and  then  he  begins  giving  you  his 
sentiments  upon  anything  that  comes  uppermost : and  these  sentiments  (you 
are  to  take  for  granted)  are  so  many  branches  of  the  eternal  rule  of  right. 

5.  Another  man,  or  perhaps  the  same  man  (it’s  no  matter)  says,  that  there 
are  certain  practices  conformable,  and  others  repugnant,  to  the  Fitness  of  Things ; 
and  then  he  tells  you,  at  his  leisure,  what  practices  are  conformable  and  what 
repugnant:  just  as  he  happens  to  like  a practice  or  dislike  it. 

6.  A great  multitude  of  people  are  continually  talking  of  the  Law  of  Nature; 
and  then  they  go  on  giving  you  their  sentiments  about  what  is  right  and  what  is 
wrong:  and  these  sentiments,  you  are  to  understand,  are  so  many  chapters  and 
sections  of  the  Law  of  Nature. 

7.  Instead  of  the  phrase.  Law  of  Nature,  you  have  sometimes.  Law  of  Reason, 
Right  Reason,  Natural  Justice,  Natural  Equity,  Good  Order.  Any  of  them  will 
do  equally  well.  This  latter  is  most  used  in  politics.  The  last  three  are  much 
more  tolerable  than  the  others,  because  they  do  not  very  explicitly  claim  to  be  any- 
thing more  than  phrases;  they  insist  but  feebly  upon  the  being  looked  upon  as  so 
many  positive  standards  of  themselves,  and  seem  content  to  be  taken,  upon  occa- 
sion, for  phrases  expressive  of  the  conformity  of  the  thing  in  question  to  the  proper 
standard,  whatever  that  may  be.  On  most  occasions,  however,  it  will  be  better 
to  say  utility:  utility  is  clearer,  as  referring  more  explicitly  to  pain  and  pleasure. 

3.  We  have  one  philosopher,  who  says,  there  is  no  harm  in  an)'thing  in  the 
world  but  in  telling  a lie:  and  that  if,  for  example,  you  were  to  murder  your  own 
■father,  this  would  only  be  a particular  way  of  saying,  he  was  not  your  father. 
Of  course,  when  this  philosopher  sees  anything  that  he  does  not  like,  he  says, 
it  is  a particular  way  of  telling  a lie.  It  is  saying,  that  the  act  ought  to  be  done, 
or  may  be  done,  when,  in  truth,  it  ought  not  to  be  done. 

9.  The  fairest  and  openest  of  them  all  is  that  sort  of  man  who  speaks  out,  and 
says,  I am  of  the  number  of  the  Elect : now  God  himself  takes  care  to  inform  the 
Elect  what  is  right : and  that  with  so  good  effect,  that  let  them  strive  ever  so,  they 
cannot  help  not  only  knowing  it  but  practising  it.  If  therefore  a man  wants  to 
know  what  is  right  and  what  is  wrong,  he  has  nothing  to  do  but  to  come  to  me.  . . . 


492  JEREMY  BENTHAM 

general  ground  of  hatred  to  a practice  can  there  be,  than  the 
mischievousness  of  such  practice?  What  all  men  are  exposed 
to  suffer  by,  all  men  will  be  disposed  to  hate.  It  is  far  yet,  how- 
ever, from  being  a constant  ground:  for  when  a man  suffers, 
it  is  not  always  that  he  knows  what  it  is  he  suffers  by.  A man 
may  suffer  grievously,  for  instance,  by  a new  tax,  without  being 
able  to  trace  up  the  cause  of  his  sufferings  to  the  injustice  of 
some  neighbour,  .who  has  eluded  the  payment  of  an  old  one. 

XVIII.  It  may  be  wondered,  perhaps,  that  in  all  this  while  no 
mention  has  been  made  of  the  theological  principle;  meaning 
that  principle  which  professes  to  recur  for  the  standard  of  right 
and  wrong  to  the  will  of  God.  But  the  case  is,  this  is  not  in  fact 
a distinct  principle.  It  is  never  anything  more  or  less  than  one 
or  other  of  the  three  before-mentioned  principles  presenting 
itself  under  another  shape.  The  will  of  God  here  meant  cannot 
be  his  revealed  will,  as  contained  in  the  sacred  writings : for  that 
is  a system  which  nobody  ever  thinks  of  recurring  to  at  this  time 
of  day,  for  the  details  of  political  administration : and  even  before 
it  can  be  applied  to  the  details  of  private  conduct,  it  is  univer- 
sally allowed,  by  the  most  eminent  divines  of  all  persuasions,  to 
stand  in  need  of  pretty  ample  interpretations;  else  to  what  use 
are  the  works  of  those  divines?  And  for  the  guidance  of  these 
interpretations,  it  is  also  allowed,  that  some  other  standard  must 
be  assumed.  The  will  then  which  is  meant  on  this  occasion,  is 
that  which  may  be  called  the  presumptive  will:  that  is  to  say, 
that  which  is  presumed  to  be  his  will  on  account  of  the  con- 
formity of  its  dictates  to  those  of  some  other  principle.  What 
then  may  be  this  other  principle?  it  must  be  one  or  other  of  the 
three  mentioned  above;  for  there  cannot,  as  we  have  seen,  be 
any  more.  It  is  plain,  therefore,  that,  setting  revelation  out  of 
the  question,  no  light  can  ever  be  thrown  upon  the  standard  of 
right  and  wrong,  by  anything  that  can  be  said  upon  the  question, 
what  is  God’s  will.  We  may  be  perfectly  sure,  indeed,  that  what- 
ever is  right  is  conformable  to  the  will  of  God ; but  so  far  is  that 
from  answering  the  purpose  of  showing  us  what  is  right,  that  it 
is  necessary  to  know  first  whether  a thing  is  right,  in  order  to 
know  from  thence  whether  it  be  conformable  to  the  will  of  God. 


MORALS  AND  LEGISLATION 


493 


XIX.  There  are  two  things  which  are  very  apt  to  be  confounded, 
but  which  it  imports  us  carefully  to  distinguish : — the  motive 
or  cause,  which,  by  operating  on  the  mind  of  an  individual,  is 
productive  of  any  act,  and  the  ground  or  reason  which  warrants 
a legislator,  or  other  by-stander,  in  regarding  that  act  with  an 
eye  of  approbation.  When  the  act  happens,  in  the  particular 
instance  in  question,  to  be  productive  of  effects  which  we  ap- 
prove of,  much  more  if  we  happen  to  observe  that  the  same 
motive  may  frequently  be  productive,  in  other  instances,  of  the 
like  effects,  we  are  apt  to  transfer  our  approbation  to  the  motive 
itself,  and  to  assume,  as  the  just  ground  for  the  approbation  we 
bestow  on  the  act,  the  circumstance  of  its  originating  from  that 
motive.  It  is  in  this  way  that  the  sentiment  of  antipathy  has 
often  been  considered  as  a just  ground  of  action.  Antipathy, 
for  instance,  in  such  or  such  a case,  is  the  cause  of  an  action 
which  is  attended  with  good  effects ; but  this  does  not  make  it 
a right  ground  of  action  in  that  case,  any  more  than  in  any 
other.  Still  farther.  Not  only  the  effects  are  good,  but  the  agent 
sees  beforehand  that  they  will  be  so.  This  may  make  the  action 
indeed  a perfectly  right  action : but  it  does  not  make  antipathy 
a right  ground  for  action.  For  the  same  sentiment  of  antipathy, 
if  implicitly  deferred  to,  may  be,  and  very  frequently  is,  produc- 
tive of  the  very  worst  effects.  Antipathy,  therefore,  can  never  be 
a right  ground  of  action.  No  more,  therefore,  can  resentment, 
which,  as  will  be  seen  more  particularly  hereafter,  is  but  a modi- 
fication of  antipathy.  The  only  right  ground  of  action,  that  can 
possibly  subsist,  is,  after  all,  the  consideration  of  utility,  which, 
if  it  is  a right  principle  of  action,  and  of  approbation,  in  any 
one  case,  is  so  in  every  other.  Other  principles  in  abundance, 
that  is,  other  motives,  may  be  the  reasons  why  such  and  such  an 
act  has  been  done,  that  is,  the  reasons  or  causes  of  its  being 
done ; but  it  is  this  alone  that  can  be  the  reason  why  it  might  or 
ought  to  have  been  done.  Antipathy  or  resentment  requires 
always  to  be  regulated,  to  prevent  its  doing  mischief : to  be  reg- 
ulated by  what?  always  by  the  principle  of  utility.  The  principle 
of  utility  neither  requires  nor  admits  of  any  other  regulator  than 
itself. 


494 


JEREMY  BENTHAM 


CHAPTER  III  OF  THE  FOUR  SANCTIONS  OR 
SOURCES  OF  PAIN  AND  PLEASURE 

I.  It  has  been  shown  that  the  happiness  of  the  individuals,  of 
whom  a community  is  composed,  that  is  their  pleasures  and 
their  security,  is  the  end  and  the  sole  end  which  the  legislator 
ought  to  have  in  view : the  sole  standard,  in  conformity  to  which 
each  individual  ought,  as  far  as  depends  upon  the  legislator,  to 
be  made  to  fashion  his  behaviour.  But  whether  it  be  this  or  any- 
thing else  that  is  to  be  done,  there  is  nothing  by  which  a man  can 
ultimately  be  made  to  do  it,  but  either  pain  or  pleasure.  Having 
taken  a general  view  of  these  two  grand  objects  {viz.  pleasure, 
and  what  comes  to  the  same  thing,  immunity  from  pain)  in  the 
character  of  final  causes;  it  will  be  necessary  to  take  a view  of 
pleasure  and  pain  itself,  in  the  character  of  efficient  causes  or 
means. 

II.  There  are  four  distinguishable  sources  from  which  pleasure 
and  pain  are  in  use  to  flow : considered  separately,  they  may  be 
termed  the  physical,  the  political,  the  moral,  and  the  religious: 
and  inasmuch  as  the  pleasures  and  pains  belonging  to  each  of 
them  are  capable  of  giving  a binding  force  to  any  law  or  rule 
of  conduct,  they  may  all  of  them  be  termed  sanctioyis. 

III.  If  it  be  in  the  present  life,  and  from  the  ordinary  course 
of  nature,  not  purposely  modified  by  the  interposition  of  the 
will  of  any  human  being,  nor  by  any  extraordinary  interposition 
of  any  superior  invisible  being,  that  the  pleasure  or  the  pain 
takes  place  or  is  expected,  it  may  be  said  to  issue  from  or  to 
belong  to  the  physical  sanction. 

IV.  If  at  the  hands  of  a particular  person  or  set  of  persons 
in  the  community,  who  under  names  correspondent  to  that  of 
judge,  are  chosen  for  the  particular  purpose  of  dispensing  it, 
according  to  the  will  of  the  sovereign  or  supreme  ruling  power 
in  the  state,  it  may  be  said  to  issue  from  the  political  sanction. 

V.  If  at  the  hands  of  such  chance  persons  in  the  community 
as  the  party  in  question  may  happen  in  the  course  of  his  life 
to  have  concerns  with,  according  to  each  man’s  spontaneous 


MORALS  AND  LEGISLATION 


495 

disposition,  and  not  according  to  any  settled  or  concerted  rule, 
it  may  be  said  to  issue  from  the  moral  or  popular  sanction. 

VI.  If  from  the  immediate  hand  of  a superior  invisible  being, 
either  in  the  present  life,  or  in  a future,  it  may  be  said  to  issue 
from  the  religious  sanction. 

VII.  Pleasures  or  pains  which  may  be  expected  to  issue  from 
the  physical,  political,  or  moral  sanctions,  must  all  of  them  be 
expected  to  be  experienced,  if  ever,  in  the  present  life:  those 
which  may  be  expected  to  issue  from  the  religious  sanction, 
may  be  expected  to  be  experienced  either  in  the  present  life  or 
in  a future. 

VIII.  Those  which  can  be  experienced  in  the  present  life,  can 
of  course  be  no  others  than  such  as  human  nature  in  the  course 
of  the  present  life  is  susceptible  of:  and  from  each  of  these 
sources  may  flow  all  the  pleasures  or  pains  of  which,  in  the 
course  of  the  present  life,  human  nature  is  susceptible.  With 
regard  to  these  then,  (with  which  alone  we  have  in  this  place 
any  concern)  those  of  them  which  belong  to  any  one  of  those 
sanctions,  differ  not  ultimately  in  kind  from  those  which  belong 
to  any  one  of  the  other  three : the  only  difference  there  is  among 
them  lies  in  the  circumstances  that  accompany  their  production. 

IX.  A man’s  goods,  or  his  person,  are  consumed  by  fire.  If 
this  happened  to  him  by  what  is  called  an  accident,  it  was  a 
calamity ; if  by  reason  of  his  own  imprudence,  (for  instance,  from 
his  neglecting  to  put  his  candle  out)  it  may  be  styled  a punish- 
ment of  the  physical  sanction ; if  it  happened  to  him  by  the  sen- 
tence of  the  political  magistrate,  a punishment  belonging  to  the 
political  sanction ; that  is,  what  is  commonly  called  a punishment, 
if  for  want  of  any  assistance  which  his  neighbour  withheld  from 
him  out  of  some  dislike  to  his  moral  character,  a punishment 
of  the  moral  sanction;  if  by  an  immediate  act  of  God's  displea- 
sure, manifested  on  account  of  some  sin  committed  by  him,  or 
through  any  distraction  of  mind,  occasioned  by  the  dread  of  such 
displeasure,  a punishment  of  the  religious  sanction. 

X.  As  to  such  of  the  pleasures  and  pains  belonging  to  the 
religious  sanction,  as  regard  a future  life,  of  what  kind  these 
may  be  we  cannot  know.  These  lie  not  open  to  our  observation. 


4q6  JEREMY  BENTHAM 

During  the  present  life  they  are  matter  only  of  expectation : and, 
whether  that  expectation  be  derived  from  natural  or  revealed 
religion,  the  particular  kind  of  pleasure  or  pain,  if  it  be  differ- 
ent from  all  those  which  lie  open  to  our  observation,  is  what 
we  can  have  no  idea  of.  The  best  ideas  we  can  obtain  of  such 
pains  and  pleasures  are  altogether  unliquidated  in  point  of 
quality.  In  what  other  respects  our  ideas  of  them  may  be  liqui- 
dated will  be  considered  in  another  place. 

XL  Of  these  four  sanctions  the  physical  is  altogether,  we  may 
observe,  the  ground-work  of  the  political  and  the  moral:  so  is 
it  also  of  the  religious,  in  as  far  as  the  latter  bears  relation  to  the 
present  life.  It  is  included  in  each  of  those  other  three.  This 
may  operate  in  any  case,  (that  is,  any  of  the  pains  or  pleasures 
belonging  to  it  may  operate)  independently  of  them : none  of 
them  can  operate  but  by  means  of  this.  In  a word,  the  powers 
of  nature  may  operate  of  themselves;  but  neither  the  magistrate, 
nor  men  at  large,  can  operate,  nor  is  God  in  the  case  in  question 
supposed  to  operate,  but  through  the  powers  of  nature. 


CHAPTER  IV.  VALUE  OF  A LOT  OF  PLEASURE 
OR  PAIN,  HO IV  TO  BE  MEASURED 

I.  Pleasures  then,  and  the  avoidance  of  pains,  are  the  ends 
which  the  legislator  has  in  view : it  behoves  him  therefore  to  under- 
stand their  value.  Pleasures  and  pains  are  the  instruments  he 
has  to  work  with:  it  behoves  him  therefore  to  understand  their 
force,  which  is  again,  in  other  words,  their  value. 

II.  To  a person  considered  hy  himself,  the  value  of  a pleasure 
or  pain  considered  hy  itself,  will  be  greater  or  less,  according 
to  the  four  following  circumstances : 

1.  Its  intensity.  3.  Its  certainty  or  uncertainty. 

2.  Its  duration.  4.  Its  propinquity  or  remoteness. 

III.  These  are  the  circumstances  which  are  to  be  considered 
in  estimating  a pleasure  or  a pain  considered  each  of  them  by 
itself.  But  when  the  value  of  any  pleasure  or  pain  is  considered 


MORALS  AND  LEGISLATION 


497 


for  the  purpose  of  estimating  the  tendency  of  any  act  by  which 
it  is  produced,  there  are  two  other  circumstances^  to  be  taken  into 
the  account;  these  are, 

5.  Its  fecundity,  or  the  chance  it  has  of  being  followed  by  sen- 
sations of  the  same  kind:  that  is,  pleasures,  if  it  be  a pleasure: 
pains,  if  it  be  a pain. 

6.  Its  purity,  or  the  chance  it  has  of  not  being  followed  by 
sensations  of  the  opposite  kind:  that  is,  pains,  if  it  be  a pleasure: 
pleasures,  if  it  be  a pain. 

These  two  last,  however , are  in  strictness  scarcely  to  be  deemed 
properties  of  the  pleasures  or  the  pain  itself ; they  are  not,  there- 
fore, in  strictness  to  be  taken  into  the  account  of  the  value  of  that 
pleasure  or  that  pain.  They  are  in  strictness  to  be  deemed  prop- 
erties only  of  the  act,  or  other  event,  by  which  such  pleasure  or 
pain  has  been  produced ; and  accordingly  are  only  to  be  taken  into 
the  account  of  the  tendency  of  such  act  or  such  event. 

IV.  To  a number  of  persons,  with  reference  to  each  of  whom 
the  value  of  a pleasure  or  a pain  is  considered,  it  will  be  greater 
or  less,  according  to  seven  circumstances : to  wit,  the  six  preced- 
ing ones;  viz. 

1.  Its  intensity.  4.  Its  propinquity  or  remoteness. 

2.  Its  duration.  5.  Its  fecundity. 

3.  Its  certainty  or  uncertainty.  6.  Its  purity. 

And  one  other;  to  wit: 

7.  Its  extent ; that  is,  the  number  of  persons  to  whom  it  ex- 
tends; or  (in  other  words)  who  are  affected  by  it. 

V.  To  take  an  exact  account  then  of  the  general  tendency 
of  any  act,  by  which  the  interests  of  a community  are  affected, 

^ These  circumstances  have  since  been  denominated  dements  or  dimensions 
of  value  in  a pleasure  or  a pain. 

Not  long  after  the  publication  of  the  first  edition,  the  following  memoriter 
verses  were  framed,  in  the  view  of  lodging  more  effectually,  in  the  memory,  these 
points,  on  which  the  whole  fabric  of  morals  and  legislation  may  be  seen  to  rest! 

Intense,  long,  certain,  speedy,  fruitful,  pure  — 

Such  marks  in  pleasures  and  in  pains  endure. 

Such  pleasures  seek,  if  private  be  thy  end: 

It  it  be  public,  wide  let  them  extend 
Such  pains  avoid,  whichever  be  thy  view: 

If  pains  must  come,  let  them  extend  to  few. 


498  JEREMY  BENTHAM 

proceed  as  follows.  Begin  with  any  one  person  of  those  whose 
interests  seem  most  immediately  to  be  affected  by  it ; and  take 
an  account, 

1.  Of  the  value  of  each  distinguishable  pleasure  which  appears 
to  be  produced  by  it  in  the  first  instance. 

2.  Of  the  value  of  each  pain  which  appears  to  be  produced  by 
it  in  the  first  instance. 

3.  Of  the  value  of  each  pleasure  which  appears  to  be  produced 
by  it  after  the  first.  This  constitutes  the  fecundity  of  the  first 
pleasure  and  the  impurity  of  the  first  pain. 

4.  Of  the  value  of  each  pain  which  appears  to  be  produced 
by  it  after  the  first.  This  constitutes  the  fecundity  of  the  first 
pain,  and  the  impurity  of  the  first  pleasure. 

5.  Sum  up  all  the  values  of  all  the  pleasures  on  the  one  side, 
and  those  of  all  the  pains  on  the  other.  The  balance,  if  it  be  on 
the  side  of  pleasure,  will  give  the  good  tendency  of  the  act  upon 
the  whole,  with  respect  to  the  interests  of  that  individual  person; 
if  on  the  side  of  pain,  the  had  tendency  of  it  upon  the  whole. 

6.  Take  an  account  of  the  number  of  persons  whose  interests 
appear  to  be  concerned;  and  repeat  the  above  process  with 
respect  to  each.  Sum  up  the  numbers  expressive  of  the  degrees 
of  good  tendency,  which  the  act  has,  with  respect  to  each  indi- 
vidual, in  regard  to  whom  the  tendency  of  it  is  good  upon  the 
whole:  do  this  again  with  respect  to  each  individual,  in  regard 
to  whom  the  tendency  of  it  is  bad  upon  the  whole.  Take  the 
balance ; which,  if  on  the  side  of  pleasure,  will  give  the  general 
good  tendency  of  the  act,  with  respect  to  the  total  number  or 
community  of  individuals  concerned;  if  on  the  side  of  pain, 
the  general  evil  tendency,  with  respect  to  the  same  community. 

VI.  It  is  not  to  be  expected  that  this  process  should  be  strictly 
pursued  previously  to  every  moral  judgment,  or  to  every  legis- 
lative or  judicial  operation.  It  may,  however,  be  always  kept 
in  view:  and  as  near  as  the  process  actually  pursued  on  these 
occasions  approaches  to  it,  so  near  will  such  process  approach 
to  the  character  of  an  exact  one. 

VII.  The  same  process  is  alike  applicable  to  pleasure  and  pain 
in  whatever  shape  they  appear : and  by  whatever  denomination 


MORALS  AND  LEGISLATION 


499 


they  are  distinguished:  to  pleasure,  whether  it  be  called  good 
(which  is  properly  the  cause  or  instrument  of  pleasure),  or 
profit  (which  is  distant  pleasure,  or  the  cause  or  instrument  of 
distant  pleasure),  or  convenience,  or  advantage,  benefit,  emolu- 
ment, happiness,  and  so  forth : to  pain,  whether  it  be  called  evil 
(which  corresponds  to  good),  or  mischief,  or  inconvenience,  or 
disadvantage,  or  loss,  or  unhappiness,  and  so  forth. 

VIII.  Nor  is  this  a novel  and  unwarranted,  any  more  than  it  is 
a useless  theory.  In  all  this  there  is  nothing  but  what  the  prac- 
tice of  mankind,  wheresoever  they  have  a clear  view  of  their 
own  interest,  is  perfectly  conformable  to.  An  article  of  property, 
an  estate  in  land,  for  instance,  is  valuable,  on  what  account? 
On  account  of  the  pleasures  of  all  kinds  which  it  enables  a man 
to  produce,  and  what  comes  to  the  same  thing,  the  pains  of  all 
kinds  which  it  enables  him  to  avert.  But  the  value  of  such  an 
article  of  property  is  universally  understood  to  rise  or  fall  accord- 
ing to  the  length  or  shortness  of  the  time  which  a man  has  in  it : 
the  certainty  or  uncertainty  of  its  coming  into  possession : and  the 
nearness  or  remoteness  of  the  time  at  which,  if  at  all,  it  is  to  come 
into  possession.  As  to  the  intensity  of  the  pleasures  which  a man 
may  derive  from  it,  this  is  never  thought  of,  because  it  depends 
upon  the  use  which  each  particular  person  may  come  to  make  of 
it ; which  cannot  be  estimated  till  the  particular  pleasures  he  may 
come  to  derive  from  it,  or  the  particular  pains  he  may  come  to 
exclude  by  means  of  it,  are  brought  to  view.  For  the  same  reason, 
neither  does  he  think  of  the  fecundity  or  purity  of  those  pleasures. 


CHAPTER  X.  MOTIVES 
§ 2.  No  Motives  either  constantly  Good,  or 

CONSTANTLY  BaD 

IX.  In  all  this  chain  of  motives,  the  principle  or  original  link 
seems  to  be  the  last  internal  motive  in  prospect;  it  is  to  this 
that  all  the  other  motives  in  prospect  owe  their  materiality; 
and  the  immediately  acting  motive  its  existence.  This  motive 


500  JEREMY  BENTHAM 

in  prospect,  we  see,  is  always  some  pleasure,  or  some  pain; 
some  pleasure,  which  the  act  in  question  is  expected  to  be  a 
means  of  continuing  or  producing:  some  pain  which  it  is  ex- 
pected to  be  a means  of  discontinuing  or  preventing.  A motive 
is  substantially  nothing  more  than  pleasure  or  pain,  operating 
in  a certain  manner. 

X.  Now,  pleasure  is  in  itself  a good : nay,  even  setting  aside 
immunity  from  pain,  the  only  good:  pain  is  in  itself  an  evil; 
and,  indeed,  without  exception,  the  only  evil;  or  else  the  words 
good  and  evil  have  no  meaning.  And  this  is  alike  true  of  every 
sort  of  pain,  and  of  every  sort  of  pleasure.  It  follows,  therefore, 
immediately  and  incontestably,  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  any 
sort  of  motive  that  is  in  itself  a bad  one. 

XI.  It  is  common,  however,  to  speak  of  actions  as  proceeding 
from  good  or  had  motives : in  which  case  the  motives  meant  are 
such  as  are  internal.  The  expression  is  far  from  being  an  accu- 
rate one;  and  as  it  is  apt  to  occur  in  the  consideration  of  almost 
every  kind  of  offence,  it  will  be  requisite  to  settle  the  precise  mean- 
ing of  it,  and  observe  how  far  it  quadrates  with  the  truth  of  things. 

XII.  With  respect  to  goodness  and  badness,  as  it  is  with  every- 
thing else  that  is  not  itself  either  pain  or  pleasure,  so  is  it  with 
motives.  If  they  are  good  or  bad,  it  is  only  on  account  of  their 
effects : good,  on  account  of  their  tendency  to  produce  pleasure, 
or  avert  pain : bad,  on  account  of  their  tendency  to  produce  pain, 
or  avert  pleasure.  Now  the  case  is,  that  from  one  and  the  same 
motive,  and  from  every  kind  of  motive,  may  proceed  actions  that 
are  good,  others  that  are  bad,  and  others  that  are  indifferent. 
This  we  shall  proceed  to  show  with  respect  to  all  the  different 
kinds  of  motives,  as  determined  by  the  various  kinds  of  pleasures 
and  pains. 

XIII.  Such  an  analysis,  useful  as  it  is,  will  be  found  to  be  a 
matter  of  no  small  difficulty;  owing,  in  great  measure,  to  a cer- 
tain perversity  of  structure  which  prevails  more  or  less  through- 
out all  languages.  To  speak  of  motives,  as  of  anything  else,  one 
must  call  them  by  their  names.  But  the  misfortune  is  that  it  is 
rare  to  meet  with  a motive  of  which  the  name  expresses  that 
and  nothing  more.  Commonly  along  with  the  very  name  of  the 


MORALS  AND  LEGISLATION  501 

motive,  is  tacitly  involved  a proposition  imputing  to  it  a certain 
quality;  a quality  which,  in  many  cases,  will  appear  to  include 
that  very  goodness  or  badness,  concerning  which  we  are  here 
inquiring  whether,  properly  speaking,  it  be  or  be  not  imputable 
to  motives.  To  use  the  common  phrase,  in  most  cases,  the  name 
of  the  motive  is  a word  which  is  employed  either  only  in  a good 
sense,  or  else  only  in  a bad  sense.  Now,  when  a word  is  spoken  of 
as  being  used  in  a good  sense,  all  that  is  necessarily  meant  is  this  : 
that  in  conjunction  with  the  idea  of  the  object  it  is  put  to  signify, 
it  conveys  an  idea  of  approbation : that  is,  of  a pleasure  or  satis- 
faction, entertained  by  the  person  who  employs  the  term  at  the 
thoughts  of  such  object.  In  like  manner,  when  a word  is  spoken 
of  as  being  used  in  a bad  sense,  aU  that  is  necessarily  meant  is 
this : that,  in  conjunction  with  the  idea  of  the  object  it  is  put 
to  signify,  it  conveys  an  idea  of  disapprobation  : that  is,  of  a dis- 
pleasure entertained  by  the  person  who  employs  the  term  at  the 
thoughts  of  such  object.  Now,  the  circumstance  on  which  such 
approbation  is  grounded,  will,  as  naturally  as  any  other,  be  the 
opinion  of  the  goodness  of  the  object  in  question,  as  above  ex- 
plained : such,  at  least,  it  must  be,  upon  the  principle  of  utility ; 
so,  on  the  other  hand,  the  circumstance  on  which  any  such  dis- 
approbation is  grounded,  will,  as  naturally  as  any  other,  be  the 
opinion  of  the  badness  of  the  object;  such,  at  least,  it  must  be, 
in  as  far  as  the  principle  of  utility  is  taken  for  the  standard. 

Now  there  are  certain  motives  which,  unless  in  a few  particular 
cases,  have  scarcely  any  other  name  to  be  expressed  by  but  such 
a word  as  is  used  only  in  a good  sense.  This  is  the  case,  for  ex- 
ample, with  the  motives  of  piety  and  honour.  The  consequence 
of  this  is,  that  if,  in  speaking  of  such  a motive,  a man  should  have 
occasion  to  apply  the  epithet  bad  to  any  actions  which  he  men- 
tions as  apt  to  result  from  it,  he  must  appear  to  be  guilty  of  a 
contradiction  in  terms.  But  the  names  of  motives  which  have 
scarcely  any  other  name  to  be  expressed  by,  but  such  a word  as  is 
used  only  in  a bad  sense,  are  many  more.  This  is  the  case,  for 
example,  with  the  motives  of  lust  and  avarice.  And,  accordingly, 
if  in  speaking  of  any  such  motive,  a man  should  have  occasion 
to  apply  the  epithets  good  or  indifferent  to  any  actions  which  he 


502  JEREMY  BENTHAM 

mentions  as  apt  to  result  from  it,  he  must  here  also  appear  to  be 
guilty  of  a similar  contradiction. 


§ 3.  Catalogue  of  Motives  corresponding  to  that  of 
Pleasures  and  Pains 

XXV.  To  the  pleasures  of  sympathy  corresponds  the  motive 
which,  in  a neutral  sense,  is  termed  good-will.  The  word  sym- 
pathy may  also  be  used  on  this  occasion ; though  the  sense  of  it 
seems  to  be  rather  more  extensive.  In  a good  sense  it  is  styled 
benevolence : and  in  certain  cases,  philanthropy;  and,  in  a figura- 
tive  way,  brotherly  love;  in  others,  humanity;  in  others,  charity; 
in  others,  pity  and  compassion;  in  others,  mercy;  in  others,  grati- 
tude ; in  others,  tenderness ; in  others,  patriotism ; in  others,  public 
spirit.  Love  is  also  employed  in  this  as  in  so  many  other  senses. 
In  a bad  sense,  it  has  no  name  applicable  to  it  in  all  cases : in 
particular  cases  it  is  styled  partiality.  The  word  zeal,  with  cer- 
tain epithets  prefixed  to  it,  might  also  be  employed  sometimes 
on  this  occasion,  though  the  sense  of  it  be  more  extensive;  apply- 
ing sometimes  to  ill  as  well  as  to  good  will.  It  is  thus  we  speak 
of  party  zeal,  national  zeal,  and  public  zeal.  The  word  attach- 
ment is  also  used  with  the  like  epithets:  we  also  say  family- 
attachment.  The  French  expression,  esprit  de  corps,  for  which  as 
yet  there  seems  to  be  scarcely  any  name  in  English,  might  be  ren- 
dered, in  some  cases,  though  rather  inadequately,  by  the  terms 
corporation  spirit,  corporation  attachment,  or  corporation  zeal. 

I.  A man  who  has  set  a town  on  fire  is  apprehended  and  com- 
mitted: out  of  regard  or  compassion  for  him,  you  help  him  to 
break  prison.  In  this  case  the  generality  of  people  will  probably 
scarcely  know  whether  to  condemn  your  motive  or  to  applaud  it ; 
those  who  condemn  your  conduct,  will  be  disposed  rather  to 
impute  it  to  some  other  motive;  if  they  style  it  benevolence  or 
compassion,  they  will  be  for  prefixing  an  epithet,  and  calling  it 
false  benevolence  or  false  compassion.  2.  The  man  is  taken  again, 
and  is  put  upon  his  trial : to  save  him  you  swear  falsely  in  his 
favour.  People,  who  would  not  call  your  motive  a bad  one  be- 
fore, will  perhaps  call  it  so  now.  3.  A man  is  at  law  with  you 


MORALS  AND  LEGISLATION 


503 


about  an  estate:  he  has  no  right  to  it:  the  judge  knows  this,  yet, 
having  an  esteem  or  affection  for  your  adversary,  adjudges  it  to 
him.  In  this  case  the  motive  is  by  everybody  deemed  abominable, 
and  is  termed  injustice  and  partiality.  4.  You  detect  a statesman 
in  receiving  bribes ; out  of  regard  to  the  public  interest,  you  give 
information  of  it,  and  prosecute  him.  In  this  case,  by  all  who  ac- 
knowledge your  conduct  to  have  originated  from  this  motive,  your 
motive  will  be  deemed  a laudable  one,  and  styled  public  spirit. 
But  his  friends  and  adherents  will  not  choose  to  account  for  your 
conduct  in  any  such  manner : they  will  rather  attribute  it  to  party 
enmity.  5.  You  find  a man  on  the  point  of  starving:  you  relieve 
him ; and  save  his  life.  In  this  case  your  motive  will  by  everybody 
be  accounted  laudable,  and  it  will  be  termed  compassion,  pity, 
charity,  benevolence.  Yet  in  all  these  cases  the  motive  is  the 
same:  it  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  the  motive  of  goodTwill. 

XXVI.  To  the  pleasures  of  malevolence,  or  antipathy,  corre- 
sponds the  motive  which,  in  a neutral  sense,  is  termed  antipathy 
or  displeasure,  and,  in  particular  cases,  dislike,  aversion,  ab- 
horrence, and  indignation ; in  a neutral  sense,  or  perhaps  a sejise 
leaning  a little  to  the  bad  side,  ill-will,  and,  in  particular  cases, 
anger,  wrath,  and  enmity.  In  a bad  sense  it  is  styled,  in  different 
cases,  wrath,  spleen,  ill-humour,  hatred,  malice,  rancour,  rage, 
fury,  cruelty,  tyranny,  envy,  jealousy,  revenge,  misanthropy, 
and  by  other  names,  which  it  is  hardly  worth  while  to  endeavour 
to  collect.  Like  good-will,  it  is  used  with  epithets  expressive  of 
the  persons  who  are  the  objects  of  the  affection.  Hence  we  hear 
of  party  enmity,  party  rage,  and  so  forth.  In  a good  sense  there 
seems  to  be  no  single  name  for  it.  In  compound  expressions  it 
may  be  spoken  of  in  such  a sense,  by  epithets,  such  as  just  and 
laudable,  prefixed  to  words  that  are  used  in  a neutral  or  nearly 
neutral  sense. 

I.  You  rob  a man : he  prosecutes  you,  and  gets  you  punished : 
out  of  resentment  you  set  upon  him,  and  hang  him  with  your 
own  hands.  In  this  case  your  motive  will  universally  be  deemed 
detestable,  and  will  be  called  malice,  cruelty,  revenge,  and  so 
forth.  2.  A man  has  stolen  a little  money  from  you : out  of  resent- 
ment you  prosecute  him,  and  get  him  hanged  by  course  of  law. 


504  JEREMY  BENTHAM 

In  this  case  people  will  probably  be  a little  divided  in  their  opin^ 
ions  about  your  motive : your  friends  will  deem  it  a laudable  one, 
and  call  it  a just  or  laudable  resentment : your  enemies  will  per- 
haps be  disposed  to  deem  it  blameable,  and  call  it  cruelty,  malice, 
revenge,  and  so  forth : to  obviate  which,  your  friends  wdll  try  per- 
haps to  change  the  motive,  and  call  it  public  spirit.  3.  A man  has 
murdered  your  father ; out  of  resentment  you  prosecute  him,  and 
get  him  put  to  death  in  course  of  law.  In  this  case  your  motive 
will  be  universally  deemed  a laudable  one,  and  styled,  as  before, 
a just  or  laudable  resentment ; and  your  friends,  in  order  to  bring 
forward  the  more  amiable  principle  from  which  the  malevolent 
one,  which  was  your  immediate  motive,  took  its  rise,  will  be  for 
keeping  the  latter  out  of  sight,  speaking  of  the  former  only,  under 
some  such  name  as  filial  piety.  Yet  in  all  these  cases  the  motive 
is  the  same ; it  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  the  motive  of  ill-will. 

XXIX.  It  appears  then  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  any  sort  of 
motive  which  is  a bad  one  in  itself ; nor,  consequently,  any  such 
thing  as  a sort  of  motive  which  in  itself  is  exclusively  a good 
one^.  And  as  to  their  effects,  it  appears  too  that  these  are  some- 
times bad,  at  other  times  either  indifferent  or  good,  and  this 
appears  to  be  the  case  with  every  sort  of  motive.  If  any  sort  of 
motive  then  is  either  good  or  bad  on  the  score  of  its  effects,  this  is 
the  case  only  on  individual  occasions,  and  with  individual  mo- 
tives; and  this  is  the  case  with  one  sort  of  motive  as  well  as  with 
another.  If  any  sort  of  motive  then  can,  in  consideration  of  its 
effects,  he  termed  with  any  propriety  a had  one,  it  can  only  be  with 
reference  to  the  balance  of  all  the  effects  it  may  have  had  of  both 
kinds  within  a given  period,  that  is,  of  its  most  usual  tendency. 

XXX.  What  then  ? (it  will  be  said)  are  not  lust,  cruelty,  ava- 
rice, bad  motives  ? Is  there  so  much  as  any  one  individual  occa- 
sion, in  which  motives  like  these  can  be  otherwise  than  bad? 
No,  certainly : and  yet  the  proposition,  that  there  is  no  one  sort 
of  motive  but  what  will  on  many  occasions  be  a good  one,  is 
nevertheless  true.  The  fact  is,  that  these  are  names  which,  if 
properly  applied,  are  never  applied  but  in  the  cases  where  the 
motives  they  signify  happen  to  be  bad.  The  names  of  these 
motives,  considered  apart  from  their  effects,  are  sexual  desire, 


MORALS  AND  LEGISLATION  505 

displeasure,  and  pecuniary  interest.  To  sexual  desire,  when  the 
effects  of  it  are  looked  upon  as  bad,  is  given  the  name  of  lust. 
Now  lust  is  always  a bad  motive.  Why?  Because  if  the  case  be 
such,  that  the  effects  of  the  motive  are  not  bad,  it  does  not  go,  or 
at  least  ought  not  to  go,  by  the  name  of  lust.  The  case  is,  then, 
that  when  I say,  “Lust  is  a bad  motive,”  it  is  a proposition  that 
merely  concerns  the  import  of  the  word  lust;  and  which  would 
be  false  if  transferred  to  the  other  word  used  for  the  same  mo- 
tive, sexual  desire.  Hence  we  see  the  emptiness  of  all  those  rhap- 
sodies of  common-place  morality,  which  consist  in  the  taking 
of  such  names  as  lust,  cruelty,  and  avarice,  and  branding  them 
w'ith  marks  of  reprobation:  applied  to  the  thing,  they  are  false; 
applied  to  the  name,  they  are  true  indeed,  but  nugatory.  Would 
you  do  a real  service  to  mankind,  show  them  the  cases  in  which 
sexual  desire  merits  the  name  of  lust ; displeasure,  that  of  cruelty, 
and  pecuniary  interest,  that  of  avarice. 

XXXI.  If  it  were  necessary  to  apply  such  denominations  as 
good,  bad,  and  indifferent  to  motives,  they  might  be  classed 
in  the  following  manner,  in  consideration  of  the  most  frequent 
complexion  of  their  effects.  In  the  class  of  good  motives  might 
be  placed  the  articles  of,  i.  Good-will.  2.  Love  of  reputation. 
3.  Desire  of  amity.  And,  4.  Religion.  In  the  class  of  bad  motives, 

5.  Displeasure.  In  the  class  of  neutral  or  indifferent  motives, 

6.  Physical  desire.  7.  Pecuniary  interest.  8.  Love  of  power. 
9.  Self-preservation;  as  including  the  fear  of  the  pains  of  the 
senses,  the  love  of  ease,  and  the  love  of  life. 

XXXII.  This  method  of  arrangement,  however,  cannot  but  be 
imperfect;  and  the  nomenclature  belonging  to  it  is  in  danger 
of  being  fallacious.  For  by  what  method  of  investigation  can 
a man  be  assured,  that  with  regard  to  the  motives  ranked  under 
the  name  of  good,  the  good  effects  they  have  had,  from  the 
beginning  of  the  world,  have,  in  each  of  the  four  species  com- 
prised under  this  name,  been  superior  to  the  bad?  still  more 
difficulty  would  a man  find  in  assuring  himself,  that  with  regard 
to  those  which  are  ranked  under  the  name  of  neutral  or  indiffer- 
ent, the  effects  they  have  had  have  exactly  balanced  each  other, 
the  value  of  the  good  being  neither  greater  nor  less  than  that  of 


5o6  JEREMY  BENTHAM 

the  bad.  It  is  to  be  considered,  that  the  interests  of  the  person 
himself  can  no  more  be  left  out  of  the  estimate,  than  those  of  the 
rest  of  the  community.  For  what  would  become  of  the  species, 
if  it  were  not  for  the  motives  of  hunger  and  thirst,  sexual  desire, 
the  fear  of  pain,  and  the  love  of  life?  Nor  in  the  actual  constitu- 
tion of  human  nature  is  the  motive  of  displeasure  less  necessary, 
perhaps,  than  any  of  the  others ; although  a system,  in  which  the 
business  of  life  might  be  carried  on  without  it,  might  possibly  be 
conceived.  It  seems,  therefore,  that  they  could  scarcely,  without 
great  danger  of  mistakes,  be  distinguished  in  this  manner  even 
with  reference  to  each  other. 

XXXIII.  The  only  way,  it  should  seem,  in  which  a motive  can 
with  safety  and  propriety  be  styled  good  or  bad,  is  with  refer- 
ence to  its  effects  in  each  individual  instance;  and  principally 
from  the  intention  it  gives  birth  to;  from  which  arise,  as  will  be 
shown  hereafter,  the  most  material  part  of  its  effects.  A motive 
is  good,  when  the  intention  it  gives  birth  to  is  a good  one;  bad, 
when  the  intention  is  a bad  one : and  an  intention  is  good  or  bad, 
according  to  the  material  consequences  that  are  the  objects  of  it. 
So  far  is  it  from  the  goodness  of  the  intention’s  being  to  be  known 
only  from  the  species  of  the  motive.  But  from  one  and  the  same 
motive,  as  we  have  seen,  may  result  intentions  of  every  sort  of 
complexion  whatsoever.  This  circumstance,  therefore,  can  afford 
no  clue  for  the  arrangement  of  the  several  sorts  of  motives. 

XXXIV.  A more  commodious  method,  therefore,  it  should 
seem,  would  be  to  distribute  them  according  to  the  influence 
which  they  appear  to  have  on  the  interests  of  the  other  members 
of  the  community,  laying  those  of  the  party  himself  out  of  the 
question;  to  wit,  according  to  the  tendency  which  they  appear 
to  have  to  unite,  or  disunite,  his  interests  and  theirs.  On  this 
plan  they  may  be  distinguished  into  social,  dissocial,  and  self- 
regarding.  In  the  social  class  may  be  reckoned,  i.  Good-will. 
2.  Love  of  reputation.  3.  Desire  of  amity.  4.  Religion.  In  the 
dissocial  may  be  placed,  5.  Displeasure.  In  the  self-regarding 
class,  6.  Physical  desire.  7.  Pecuniary  interest.  8.  Love  of  power. 
9.  Self-preservation;  as  including  the  fear  of  the  pains  of  the 
senses,  the  love  of  ease,  and  the  love  of  life. 


MORALS  AND  LEGISLATION 


507 


XXXV.  With  respect  to  the  motives  that  have  been  termed  so- 
cial, if  any  farther  distinction  should  be  of  use,  to  that  of  good- 
will alone  may  be  applied  the  epithet  of  purely-social ; while  the 
love  of  reputation,  the  desire  of  amity,  and  the  motive  of  religion, 
may  together  be  comprised  under  the  division  of  semi-social : the 
social  tendency  being  much  more  constant  and  unequivocal 
in  the  former  than  in  any  of  the  three  latter.  Indeed  these  last, 
social  as  they  may  be  termed,  are  self-regarding  at  the  same  time. 

§ 4.  Order  of  Pre-eminence  among  Motives 

XXXVI.  Of  all  these  sorts  of  motives,  good-will  is  that  of  which 
the  dictates,  taken  in  a general  view,  are  surest  of  coinciding 
with  those  of  the  principle  of  utility.  For  the  dictates  of  utility 
are  neither  more  nor  less  than  the  dictates  of  the  most  extensive 
and  enlightened  (that  is  well-advised)  benevolence.  The  dictates 
of  the  other  motives  may  be  conformable  to  those  of  utility,  or 
repugnant,  as  it  may  happen. 


XXXVIII.  After  good-will,  the  motive  of  which  the  dictates 
seem  to  have  the  next  best  chance  for  coinciding  with  those  of 
utility,  is  that  of  the  love  of  reputation.  There  is  but  one  cir- 
cumstance which  prevents  the  dictates  of  this  motive  from  coin- 
ciding in  all  cases  with  those  of  the  former.  This  is,  that  men  in 
their  likings  and  dislikings,  in  the  dispositions  they  manifest  to 
annex  to  any  mode  of  conduct  their  approbation  or  their  disap- 
probation, and  in  consequence  to  the  person  who  appears  to 
practise  it,  their  good  or  their  ill  will,  do  not  govern  themselves 
exclusively  by  the  principle  of  utility.  . . . Sometimes  it  is  the 
principle  of  asceticism  they  are  guided  by : sometime-s  the  prin- 
ciple of  sympathy  and  antipathy. 

CHAPTER  XL  OF  HUMAN  DISPOSITIONS  IN 
GENERAL 

I.  In  the  foregoing  chapter  it  has  been  shown  at  large,  that 
goodness  or  badness  cannot,  with  any  propriety,  be  predicated 
of  motives.  Is  there  nothing  then  about  a man  that  can  properly 


5o8  JEREMY  BENTHAM 

be  termed  good  or  bad,  when,  on  such  or  such  an  occasion,  he 
suffers  himself  to  be  governed  by  such  or  such  a motive?  Yes, 
certainly : his  disposition.  Now  disposition  is  a kind  of  fictitious 
entity,  feigned  for  the  convenience  of  discourse,  in  order  to 
express  what  there  is  supposed  to  be  permanent  in  a man’s  frame 
of  mind,  where,  on  such  or  such  an  occasion,  he  has  been  influ- 
enced by  such  or  such  a motive,  to  engage  in  an  act,  which,  as  it 
appeared  to  him,  was  of  such  or  such  a tendency. 

II.  It  is  with  disposition  as  with  everything  else:  it  will  be 
good  or  bad  according  to  its  effects : according  to  the  effects 
it  has  in  augmenting  or  diminishing  the  happiness  of  the  com- 
munity. A man’s  disposition  may  accordingly  be  considered  in 
two  points  of  view : according  to  the  influence  it  has,  either,  i. 
on  his  own  happiness : or,  2.  on  the  happiness  of  others.  Viewed 
in  both  these  lights  together,  or  in  either  of  them  indiscrimi- 
nately, it  may  be  termed,  on  the  one  hand,  good;  on  the  other, 
bad;  or,  in  flagrant  cases,  depraved.  Viewed  in  the  former  of 
these  lights,  it  has  scarcely  any  peculiar  name,  which  has  as  yet 
been  appropriated  to  it.  It  might  be  termed,  though  but  inex- 
pressively, frail  or  infirm,  on  the  one  hand ; sound  or  firm,  on  the 
other.  Viewed  in  the  other  light,  it  might  be  termed  beneficent 
or  meritorious,  on  the  one  hand : pernicious  or  mischievous,  on 
the  other.  Now  of  that  branch  of  a man’s  disposition,  the  effects 
of  which  regard  in  the  first  instance  only  himself,  there  needs 
not  much  to  be  said  here.  To  reform  it  when  bad,  is  the  business 
rather  of  the  moralist  than  the  legislator : nor  is  it  susceptible 
of  those  various  modifications  which  make  so  material  a dif- 
ference in  the  effects  of  the  other.  Again,  with  respect  to  that 
part  of  it,  the  effects  whereof  regard  others  in  the  first  instance, 
it  is  only  in  as  far  as  it  is  of  a mischievous  nature  that  the  penal 
branch  of  law  has  any  immediate  concern  with  it : in  as  far  as  it 
may  be  of  a beneficent  nature,  it  belongs  to  a hitherto  but  little 
cultivated,  and  as  yet  unnamed  branch  of  law,  which  might  be 
styled  the  remuneratory. 


RICHARD  PRICE 

(1723-1791) 

A REVIEW  OF  THE  PRINCIPAL 
QUESTIONS  IN  MORALS^ 

CHAPTER  I.  OF  THE  ORIGIN  OF  OUR  IDEAS 
OF  MORAL  RIGHT  AND  WRONG 


’T  IS  a very  necessary  previous  observation,  that  our  ideas  of 
right  and  wrong  are  simple  ideas,  and  must  therefore  be  as- 
cribed to  some  power  of  immediate  perception  in  the  human 
mind.  He  that  doubts  this,  need  only  try  to  give  definitions  of 
them,  which  shall  amount  to  more  than  synonymous  expressions. 
Most  of  the  confusion  in  which  the  question  concerning  the  foun- 
dation of  morals  has  been  involved  has  proceeded  from  inatten- 
tion to  this  remark.  There  are,  undoubtedly,  some  actions  that 
are  ultimately  approved,  and  for  justifying  which  no  reason  can 
be  assigned;  as  there  are  some  ends,  which  are  ultimately  desired, 
and  for  chusing  which  no  reason  can  be  given.  Were  not  this 
true,  there  would  be  an  infinite  progression  of  reasons  and  ends, 
and  therefore  nothing  could  be  at  all  approved  or  desired. 

Supposing  then,  that  we  have  a power  immediately  perceiving 
right  and  wrong : the  point  I am  now  to  endeavour  to  prove,  is, 
that  this  power  is  the  Understanding,  agreeably  to  the  assertion 
at  the  end  of  the  first  section.  I cannot  but  flatter  myself,  that  the 
main  obstacle  to  the  acknowledgment  of  this,  has  been  already 
removed,  by  the  observations  made  in  the  preceding  section,  to 
shew  that  the  understanding  is  a power  of  immediate  perception, 
which  gives  rise  to  new  original  ideas ; nor  do  I think  it  possible 
that  there  should  have  been  many  disputes  on  this  subject  had 
this  been  properly  considered. 

But,  in  order  more  explicitly  and  distinctly  to  evince  what  I 
have  asserted  (in  the  only  way  the  nature  of  the  question  seems 
capable  of)  let  me, 

* 1st  ed.,  London,  1758.  Reprinted  from  the  3d  ed.,  ib.  1787. 


RICHARD  PRICE 


510 

First,  Observe,  that  it  implies  no  absurdity,  but  evidently  may 
be  true.  It  is  undeniable,  that  many  of  our  ideas  are  derived  from 
our  intuition  of  truth,  or  the  discernment  of  the  natures  of  things 
by  the  understanding.  This  therefore  may  be  the  source  of  our 
moral  ideas.  It  is  at  least  possible,  that  right  and  VTong  may 
denote  what  we  understand  and  know  concerning  certain  objects, 
in  like  manner  with  proportion  and  disproportion,  connexion 
and  repugnancy,  contingency  and  necessity,  and  the  other  ideas 
before-mentioned.  — I will  add,  that  nothing  has  been  offered 
which  has  any  tendency  to  prove  the  contrary.  All  that  can  ap- 
pear, from  the  objections  and  reasonings  of  the  Author  of  the 
Enquiry  into  the  original  of  our  ideas  of  beauty  and  virtue,  is 
only,  what  has  been  already  observed,  and  what  does  not  in  the 
least  affect  the  point  in  debate ; namely,  that  the  words  right  and 
wrong,  fit  and  unfit,  express  simple  and  undeniable  ideas.  But 
that  the  power  perceiving  them  is  properly  a sense  and  not  rea- 
son ; that  these  ideas  denote  nothing  true  of  actions,  nothing  in 
the  nature  of  actions;  this,  he  has  left  entirely  without  proof.  He 
appears,  indeed,  to  have  taken  for  granted,  that  if  virtue  and  vice 
are  immediately  perceived,  they  must  be  perceptions  of  an  im- 
planted sense.  But  no  conclusion  could  have  been  more  hasty. 
For  will  any  one  take  upon  him  to  say,  that  all  powers  of  imme- 
diate perception  must  be  arbitrary  and  implanted ; or  that  there 
can  be  no  simple  ideas  denoting  any  thing  besides  the  qualities 
and  passions  of  the  mind  ? — In  short.  Whatever  some  writers 
have  said  to  the  contrary,  it  is  certainly  a point  not  yet  decided, 
that  virtue  is  wholly  factitious,  and  to  be  felt,  not  understood. 

As  there  are  some  propositions,  which,  when  attended  to,  neces- 
sarily determine  all  minds  to  believe  them : And  as  (which  will 
be  shown  hereafter)  there  are  some  ends,  whose  natures  are  such, 
that,  when  perceived,  all  beings  immediately  and  necessarily 
desire  them:  So  is  it  very  credible,  that,  in  like  manner,  there  are 
some  actions  whose  natures  are  such,  that,  when  observed,  all 
rational  beings  immediately  and  necessarily  approve  them. 

I do  not  at  all  care  what  follows  from  Mr.  Hume’s  assertion, 
that  all  our  ideas  are  either  impressions,  or  copies  of  impres- 
sions; or  from  Mr.  Locke’s  assertion  that  they  are  all  deducible 


PRINCIPAL  QUESTIONS  IN  MORALS  51 1 

from  sensation  and  reflexion.  — The  first  of  these  assertions  is,  I 
think,  destitute  of  all  proof;  supposes,  when  applied  in  this  as 
well  as  many  other  cases,  the  point  in  question;  and,  when  pur- 
sued to  its  consequences,  ends  in  the  destruction  of  all  truth  and 
the  subversion  of  our  intellectual  faculties.  — The  other  wants 
much  explication  to  render  it  consistent  with  any  tolerable  ac- 
count of  the  original  of  our  moral  ideas : nor  does  there  seem  to 
be  any  thing  necessary  to  convince  a person,  that  all  our  ideas  are 
not  deducible  from  sensation  and  reflexion,  except  taken  in  a 
very  large  and  comprehensive  sense,  besides  considering  how  Mr. 
Locke  derives  from  them  our  moral  ideas.  He  places  them  among 
our  ideas  of  relations,  and  represents  rectitude  as  signifying  the 
conformity  of  actions  to  some  rules  or  laws ; which  rules  or  laws, 
he  says,  are  either  the  will  of  God,  the  decrees  of  the  magistrate, 
or  the  fashion  of  the  country ; from  whence  it  follows,  that  it  is 
an  absurdity  to  apply  rectitude  to  rules  and  laws  themselves;  to 
suppose  the  divine  will  to  be  directed  by  it;  or  to  consider  it  as 
itself  a rule  and  law.  But,  it  is  undoubted,  that  this  great  man 
would  have  detested  these  consequences ; and,  indeed,  it  is  suffi- 
ciently evident,  that  he  was  strangely  embarrassed  in  his  notions 
on  this,  as  well  as  some  other  subjects.  But, 

Secondly,  I know  of  no  better  way  of  determining  this  point, 
than  by  referring  those  who  doubt  about  it  to  common  sense, 
and  putting  them  upon  considering  the  nature  of  their  own  per- 
ceptions. — Could  we  suppose  a person,  who,  when  he  perceived 
an  external  object,  was  at  a loss  to  determine  whether  he  per- 
ceived it  by  means  of  his  organs  of  sight  or  touch ; what  better 
method  could  be  taken  to  satisfy  him?  There  is  no  possibility  of 
doubting  in  any  such  cases.  And  it  seems  not  more  difficult  to 
determine  in  the  present  case. 

Were  the  question;  what  that  perception  is  which  we  have  of 
number,  diversity,  causation  or  proportion;  and  whether  our 
ideas  of  them  signify  truth  and  reality  perceived  by  the  under- 
standing, or  impressions  made  by  the  objects  to  which  we  ascribe 
them,  on  our  minds ; were,  I say,  this  the  question ; would  it  not 
be  sufficient  to  appeal  to  every  man’s  consciousness  ? — These 
perceptions  seem  to  me  to  have  no  greater  pretence  to  be  de- 


RICHARD  PRICE 


512 

nominated  perceptions  of  the  understanding,  than  right  and 
wrong. 

It  is  true,  some  impressions  of  pleasure  or  pain,  satisfaction 
or  disgust,  generally  attend  our  perceptions  of  virtue  and  vice. 
But  these  are  merely  their  effects  and  concomitants,  and  not 
the  perceptions  themselves,  which  ought  no  more  to  be  con- 
founded with  them,  than  a particular  truth  (like  that  for  which 
Pythagoras  offered  a hecatomb)  ought  to  be  confounded  with 
the  pleasure  that  may  attend  the  discovery  of  it.  Some  emotion 
or  other  accompanies,  perhaps,  all  our  perceptions;  but  more 
remarkably  our  perceptions  of  right  and  wrong.  And  this,  as 
will  be  again  observed  in  the  next  chapter,  is  what  has  led  to  the 
mistake  of  making  them  to  signify  nothing  but  impressions, 
which  error  some  have  extended  to  all  objects  of  knowledge;  and 
thus  have  been  led  into  an  extravagant  and  monstrous  scepticism. 

But  to  return;  let  any  one  compare  the  ideas  arising  from  our 
powers  of  sensation,  with  those  arising  from  our  intuition  of  the 
natures  of  things,  and  enquire  which  of  them  his  ideas  of  right 
and  wrong  most  resemble.  On  the  issue  of  such  a comparison 
may  we  safely  rest  this  question.  It  is  scarcely  conceivable  that 
any  one  can  impartially  attend  to  the  nature  of  his  own  percep- 
tions, and  determine  that,  when  he  thinks  gratitude  or  benefi- 
cence to  be  right,  he  perceives  nothing  true  of  them,  and  under- 
stands nothing,  but  only  receives  an  impression  from  a sense. 
Was  it  possible  for  a person  to  question,  whether  his  idea  of 
equality  was  gained  from  sense  or  intelligence;  he  might  soon  be 
convinced,  by  considering,  whether  he  is  not  sure,  that  certain 
lines  or  figures  are  really  equal,  and  that  their  equality  must  be 
perceived  by  all  minds,  as  soon  as  the  objects  themselves  are 
perceived.  — In  the  same  manner  may  we  satisfy  ourselves  con- 
cerning the  origin  of  the  idea  of  right:  For  have  we  not  a like 
consciousness,  that  we  discern  the  one,  as  well  as  the  other,  in 
certain  objects?  Upon  what  possible  grounds  can  we  pronounce 
the  one  to  be  sense,  and  the  other  reason?  Would  not  a Being 
purely  intelligent,  having  happiness  within  his  reach,  approve 
of  securing  it  for  himself?  Would  not  he  think  this  right;  and 
would  it  not  be  right?  When  we  contemplate  the  happiness  of 


PRINCIPAL  QUESTIONS  IN  MORALS  513 

a species,  or  of  a world,  and  pronounce  concerning  the  action 
of  reasonable  beings  which  promote  it,  that  they  are  right;  is 
this  judging  erroneously?  Or  is  it  no  determination  of  judgment 
at  all,  but  a species  of  mental  taste  ? — Are  not  such  actions 
really  right?  Or  is  every  apprehension  of  rectitude  in  them  false 
and  delusive,  just  as  the  like  apprehension  is  concerning  the 
effects  of  external  and  internal  sensation,  when  taken  to  belong 
to  the  causes  producing  them? 

It  seems  beyond  contradiction  certain,  that  every  being  must 
desire  happiness  for  himself;  and  can  those  natures  of  things, 
from  which  the  desire  of  happiness  and  aversion  to  misery  neces- 
sarily arise,  leave,  at  the  same  time,  a rational  nature  totally  indif- 
ferent as  to  any  approbation  of  actions  procuring  the  one,  or 
preventing  the  other  ? Is  there  nothing  that  any  understanding 
can  perceive  to  be  amiss  in  a creature’s  bringing  upon  himself, 
or  others,  calamities  and  ruin  ? Is  there  nothing  truly  wrong  in 
the  absolute  and  eternal  misery  of  an  innocent  being? — “ It 
appears  wrong  to  us.”  — And  what  reason  can  you  have  for 
doubting,  whether  it  appears  what  it  is  ? — Should  a being,  after 
being  flattered  with  hopes  of  bliss,  and  having  his  expectations 
raised  by  encouragements  and  promises,  find  himself,  without 
reason,  plunged  into  irretrievable  torments;  would  he  not  justly 
complain?  Would  he  want  a sense  to  cause  the  idea  of  wrong 
to  arise  in  his  mind  ? — Can  goodness,  gratitude,  and  veracity, 
appear  to  any  mind  under  the  same  characters,  with  cruelty,  in- 
gratitude, and  treachery?  — Darkness  may  as  soon  appear  to  be 
light. 

It  would,  I doubt,  be  to  little  purpose  to  plead  further  here, 
the  natural  and  universal  apprehensions  of  mankind,  that  our 
ideas  of  right  and  wrong  belong  to  the  understanding,  and  denote 
real  characters  of  actions ; because  it  will  be  easy  to  reply,  that 
they  have  a like  opinion  of  the  sensible  qualities  of  bodies;  and 
that  nothing  is  more  common  than  for  men  to  mistake  their  own 
sensations  for  the  properties  of  the  objects  producing  them,  or  to 
apply  to  the  object  itself,  what  they  find  always  accompanying 
it,  whenever  observed.  Let  it  therefore  be  observed. 

Thirdly,  That  if  right  and  wrong  denote  effects  of  sensation. 


5H 


RICHARD  PRICE 


it  must  imply  the  greatest  absurdity  to  suppose  them  applicable 
to  actions;  that  is;  the  ideas  of  right  and  wrong  and  of  action, 
must  in  this  case  be  incompatible;  as  much  so,  as  the  idea  of 
pleasure  and  a regular  form,  or  of  pain  and  the  collisions  of 
bodies.  — All  sensations,  as  such,  are  modes  of  consciousness, 
or  feelings  of  a sentient  being,  which  must  be  of  a nature  totally 
different  from  the  particular  causes  which  produce  them.  A 
coloured  body,  if  we  speak  accurately,  is  the  same  absurdity 
with  a square  sound.  We  need  no  experiments  to  prove  that 
heat,  cold,  colours,  tastes,  &c.  are  not  real  qualities  of  bodies; 
because  the  ideas  of  matter  and  of  these  qualities  are  incompati- 
ble. — But  is  there  indeed  any  such  incompatibility  between  ac- 
tions and  right  ? Or  any  such  absurdity  in  affirming  the  one  of 
the  other  ? — Are  the  ideas  of  them  as  different  as  the  idea  of  a 
sensation,  and  its  cause? 

On  the  contrary ; the  more  we  enquire,  the  more  indisputable, 
I imagine,  it  will  appear  to  us,  that  we  express  necessary  truth, 
when  we  say  of  some  actions,  they  are  right ; and  of  others,  they 
are  wrong.  Some  of  the  most  careful  enquirers  think  thus,  and 
find  it  out  of  their  power  not  to  be  persuaded  that  these  are  real 
distinctions  belonging  to  the  natures  of  actions.  Can  it  be  so 
difficult,  to  distinguish  between  the  ideas  of  sensibility  and  rea- 
son ; between  the  intuitions  of  truth  and  the  passions  of  the  mind  ? 
Is  that  a scheme  of  morals  we  can  be  very  fond  of,  which  makes 
our  perceptions  of  moral  good  and  evil  in  actions  and  manners, 
to  be  all  vision  and  fancy?  Who  can  help  seeing,  that  right  and 
wrong  are  as  absolutely  unintelligible,  and  void  of  sense  and 
meaning,  when  supposed  to  signify  nothing  true  of  actions,  no 
essential,  inherent  difference  between  them,  as  the  perceptions 
of  the  external  and  internal  senses  are,  when  thought  to  be 
properties  of  the  objects  that  produce  them? 

How  strange  would  it  be  to  maintain,  that  there  is  no  pos- 
sibility of  mistaking  with  respect  to  right  and  wrong;  that  the 
apprehensions  of  all  beings,  on  this  subject,  are  alike  just,  since 
all  sensation  must  be  alike  true  sensation  ? — Is  there  a greater 
absurdity,  than  to  suppose,  that  the  moral  rectitude  of  an  action 
is  nothing  absolute  and  unvarying;  but  capable,  like  all  the  modi- 


PRINCIPAL  QUESTIONS  IN  MORALS  515 

fications  of  pleasure  and  pain,  of  being  intended  and  remitted, 
of  increasing  and  lessening,  of  rising  and  sinking  with  the  force 
and  liveliness  of  our  feelings?  Would  it  be  less  ridiculous  to 
suppose  this  of  the  relations  between  given  quantities,  of  the 
equality  of  numbers,  or  the  figure  of  bodies? 

In  the  last  place;  let  it  be  considered,  that  all  actions,  undoubt- 
edly, have  a nature.  That  is,  some  character  certainly  belongs 
to  them,  and  somewhat  there  is  to  be  truly  affirmed  of  them. 
This  may  be,  that  some  of  them  are  right,  others  wrong.  But  if 
this  is  not  allowed ; if  no  actions  are,  in  themselves,  either  right 
or  wrong,  or  any  thing  of  a moral  and  obligatory  nature,  which 
can  be  an  object  to  the  understanding;  it  follows,  that,  in  them- 
selves, they  are  all  indifferent.  This  is  what  is  essentially  true  of 
them,  and  this  is  what  all  understandings,  that  perceive  right, 
must  perceive  them  to  be.  But  are  we  not  conscious,  that  we  per- 
ceive the  contrary?  And  have  we  not  as  much  reason  to  believe 
the  contrary,  as  to  believe  or  trust  at  all  our  own  discernment  ? 

In  other  words;  every  thing  having  a nature  or  essence,  from 
whence  such  and  such  truths  concerning  it  necessarily  result, 
and  which  it  is  the  proper  province  of  the  understanding  to  per- 
ceive; it  follows,  that  nothing  whatever  can  be  exempted  from 
its  inspection  and  sentence,  and  that  of  every  thought,  sentiment, 
and  subject,  it  is  the  natural  and  ultimate  judge.  Actions,  there- 
fore, ends  and  events  are  within  its  province.  Of  these,  as  well 
as  all  other  objects,  it  belongs  to  it  to  judge.  — What  is  this  judg- 
ment? — One  would  think  it  impossible  for  any  person,  without 
some  hesitation  and  reluctance,  to  reply;  that  the  judgment  he 
forms  of  them  is  this;  that  they  are  all  essentially  indifferent,  and 
that  there  is  no  one  thing  fitter  to  be  done  than  another.  If  this 
is  judging  truly;  how  obvious  to  infer,  that  it  signifies  not  what 
we  do ; and  that  the  determination  to  think  otherwise,  is  an  im- 
position upon  rational  creatures.  Why  then  should  they  not 
labour  to  suppress  in  themselves  this  determination,  and  to  ex- 
tirpate from  their  natures  all  the  delusive  ideas  of  morality,  worth, 
and  virtue  ? What  though  the  ruin  of  the  world  should  follow  ? — 
There  would  be  nothing  really  wrong  in  this. 


RICHARD  PRICE 


516 

In  short;  it  seems  sufficient  to  overthrow  any  scheme,  that 
such  consequences,  as  the  following,  should  arise  from  it : — 
That  no  one  being  can  judge  one  end  to  be  better  than  another, 
or  believe  a real  moral  difference  between  actions;  without  giving 
his  assent  to  an  impossibility;  without  mistaking  the  affections 
of  his  own  mind  for  truth,  and  sensation  for  knowledge.  — That 
there  being  nothing  intrinsically  proper  or  improper,  just  or  un- 
just; there  is  nothing  obligatory;  ^ but  all  beings  enjoy,  from  the 
reasons  of  things  and  the  nature  of  actions,  liberty  to  act  as  they 
will. 

The  following  important  corollary  arises  from  these  argu- 
ments : 

That  morality  is  eternal  and  immutable. 

Right  and  wrong,  it  appears,  denote  what  actions  are.  Now 
whatever  any  thing  is,  that  it  is,  not  by  will,  or  decree,  or  power, 
but  by  nature  and  necessity.  Whatever  a triangle  or  circle  is, 
that  it  is  unchangeably  and  eternally.  It  depends  upon  no  will 
or  power,  whether  the  three  angles  of  a triangle  and  two  right 
ones  shall  be  equal;  whether  the  periphery  of  a circle  and  its 
diameter  shall  be  incommensurable;  or  whether  matter  shall 
be  divisible,  moveable,  passive,  and  inert.  Every  object  of  the 
understanding  has  an  indivisible  and  invariable  essence;  from 
whence  arise  its  properties,  and  numberless  truths  concerning  it. 
Omnipotence  does  not  consist  in  a power  to  alter  the  nature  of 
things,  and  to  destroy  necessary  truth  (for  this  is  contradictory, 
and  would  infer  the  destruction  of  all  wisdom,  and  knowledge), 
but  in  an  absolute  command  over  all  particular,  external  exist- 
ences, to  create  or  destroy  them,  or  produce  any  possible  changes 
among  them.  — The  natures  of  things  then  being  immutable ; 
whatever  we  suppose  the  natures  of  actions  to  be,  they  must  be 
immutably.  If  they  are  indifferent,  this  indifference  is  itself  im- 
mutable, and  there  neither  is  nor  can  be  any  one  thing  that, 
in  reality,  we  ought  to  do  rather  than  another.  The  same  is  to 

^ Moral  right  and  wrong,  and  moral  obligation  or  duty,  must  remain,  or 
vanish  together.  They  necessarily  accompany  one  another,  and  make  but  as  it 
were  one  idea.  As  far  as  the  former  are  fictitious  and  imaginary,  the  latter  must 
be  so  too. 


PRINCIPAL  QUESTIONS  IN  MORALS  517 

be  said  of  right  and  wrong,  of  moral  good  and  evil,  as  far  as 
they  express  real  characters  of  actions.  They  must  immutably 
and  necessarily  belong  to  those  actions  of  which  they  are  truly 
affirmed. 

No  will,  therefore,  can  render  any  thing  good  and  obligatory, 
which  was  not  so  antecedently,  and  from  eternity ; or  any  action 
right,  that  is  not  so  in  itself;  meaning  by  action,  not  the  bare 
external  effect  produced,  but  the  ultimate  principle  of  conduct, 
or  the  determination  of  a reasonable  being,  considered  as  arising 
from  the  perception  of  some  motives  and  reasons  and  intended 
for  some  end.  According  to  this  sense  of  the  word  action,  when- 
ever the  principle  from  which  we  act  is  different,  the  action  is  dif- 
ferent, though  the  external  effects  produced  may  be  the  same. 
If  we  attend  to  this,  the  meaning  and  truth  of  what  I have  just 
observed  will  be  easily  seen.  — Put  the  case  of  any  action,  the 
performance  of  which  is  indifferent,  or  attended  with  no  circum- 
stances of  the  agent  that  render  it  better  or  fitter  to  be  done  than 
omitted.  Is  it  not  plain  that,  while  all  things  continue  the  same,  it 
is  as  impossible  for  any  will  or  power  to  make  acting  obligatory 
here,  as  it  is  for  them  to  make  two  equal  things  rmequal  with- 
out producing  any  change  in  either?  It  is  true,  the  doing  of  any 
indifferent  thing  may  become  obligatory,  in  consequence  of  a 
command  from  a being  possessed  of  rightful  authority  over  us : 
but  it  is  obvious,  that  in  this  case,  the  command  produces  a 
change  in  the  circumstances  of  the  agent,  and  that  what,  in  con- 
sequence of  it,  becomes  obligatory,  is  not  the  same  with  what  be- 
fore was  indifferent.  The  external  effect,  that  is,  the  matter  of  the 
action  is  indeed  the  same ; but  nothing  is  plainer,  than  that  actions 
in  this  sense  the  same,  may  in  a moral  view  be  totally  different 
according  to  the  ends  aimed  at  by  them,  and  the  principles  of 
morality  under  which  they  fall. 

When  an  action,  otherwise  indifferent,  becomes  obligatory,  by 
being  made  the  subject  of  a promise;  we  are  not  to  imagine,  that 
our  own  will  or  breath  alters  the  nature  of  things  by  making  what 
is  indifferent  not  so.  But  what  was  indifferent  before  the  promise 
is  still  so;  and  it  cannot  be  supposed,  that,  after  the  promise,  it 
becomes  obligatory,  without  a contradiction.  All  that  the  pro- 


RICHARD  PRICE 


518 

mise  does,  is,  to  alter  the  connexion  of  a particular  effect;  or  to 
cause  that  to  be  an  instance  of  right  conduct  which  was  not  so 
before.  There  are  no  effects  producible  by  us,  which  may  not,  in 
this  manner,  fall  under  different  principles  of  morality ; acquire 
connexions  sometimes  with  happiness,  and  sometimes  with  mis- 
ery ; and  thus  stand  in  different  relations  to  the  eternal  rules  of 
duty. 

The  objection,  therefore,  to  what  is  here  asserted,  taken  from 
the  effects  of  positive  laws  and  promises,  has  no  weight.  It  appears, 
that  when  an  obligation  to  particular  indifferent  actions  arises 
from  the  command  of  the  Deity,  or  positive  laws ; it  is  by  no  means 
to  be  inferred  from  hence,  that  obligation  is  the  creature  of  will, 
or  that  the  nature  of  what  is  indifferent  is  changed : nothing  then 
becoming  obligatory,  which  was  not  so  from  eternity;  that  is, 
obeying  the  divine  will,  and  just  authority.  And  had  there  been 
nothing  right  in  this,  had  there  been  no  reason  from  the, natures 
of  things  for  obeying  God’s  will;  it  is  certain,  it  could  have  in- 
duced no  obligation,  nor  at  all  influenced  an  intellectual  nature 
as  such.  — Will  and  laws  signify  nothing,  abstracted  from  some- 
thing previous  to  them,  in  the  character  of  the  law-giver  and  the 
relations  of  beings  to  one  another,  to  give  them  force  and  render 
disobedience  a crime.  If  mere  will  ever  obliged,  what  reason  can 
be  given,  why  the  will  of  one  being  should  oblige,  and  of  another 
not;  why  it  should  not  oblige  alike  to  every  thing  it  requires;  and 
why  there  should  be  any  difference  between  power  and  authority  ? 
It  is  truth  and  reason,  then,  that,  in  all  cases,  oblige,  and  not  mere 
will.  So  far,  we  see,  is  it  from  being  possible,  that  any  will  or  laws 
should  create  right ; that  they  can  have  no  effect,  but  in  virtue  of 
natural  and  antecedent  right. 

Thus,  then,  is  morality  fixed  on  an  immoveable  basis,  and 
appears  not  to  be,  in  any  sense,  factitious;  or  the  arbitrary  pro- 
duction of  any  power  human  or  divine;  but  equally  everlasting 
and  necessary  with  all  truth  and  reason.  And  this  we  find  to  be 
as  evident,  as  that  right  and  wrong  signify  a reality  in  what  is  so 
denominated. 


PRINCIPAL  QUESTIONS  IN  MORALS  519 


CHAPTER  II.  OF  OUR  IDEAS  OF  THE  BEAUTY 
AND  DEFORMITY  OF  ACTIONS 

Having  considered  our  ideas  of  right  and  wrong ; I come  now 
to  consider  our  ideas  of  beauty,  and  its  contrary. 

This  is  the  second  kind  of  sentiment,  or  perception,  with  respect 
to  actions,  which  I noticed  at  the  beginning  of  the  preceding 
chapter.  Little  need  be  said  to  show,  that  it  is  different  from  the 
former.  We  are  plainly  conscious  of  more  than  the  bare  discern- 
ment of  right  and  wrong,  or  the  cool  judgement  of  reason  con- 
cerning the  natures  of  actions.  We  often  say  of  some  actions,  not 
only  that  they  are  right,  but  that  they  are  amiable;  and  of  others, 
not  only  that  they  are  wrong,  but  odious  and  shocking.  Every 
one  must  see,  that  these  epithets  denote  the  delight;  or  on  the 
contrary,  the  horror  and  detestation  felt  by  ourselves;  and,  con- 
sequently, signify  not  any  real  qualities  or  characters  of  actions, 
but  the  effects  in  us,  or  the  particular  pleasure  and  pain,  attending 
the  consideration  of  them. 

What  then  is  the  true  account  of  these  perceptions  ? must  they 
not  arise  entirely  from  an  arbitrary  structure  of  our  minds,  by 
which  certain  objects,  when  observed,  are  rendered  the  occasions 
of  certain  sensations  and  affections?  And  therefore,  in  this  in- 
stance, are  we  not  under  a necessity  of  recurring  to  a sense? 
Can  there  be  any  connexion,  except  such  as  arises  from  im- 
planted principles,  between  any  perceptions  and  particular 
modifications  of  pleasure  and  pain  in  the  perceiving  mind  ? 

I answer : That  there  may  be  such  a connexion ; and  that  I 
think,  there  is  such  a connexion  in  many  instances ; and  particu- 
larly in  this  instance. 

Why  or  how  the  impressions  made  by  external  objects  on  our 
bodily  organs,  produce  the  sensations  constantly  attending  them, 
it  is  not  possible  for  us  to  discover.  The  same  is  true  of  the  sen- 
sations and  affections  of  mind  produced  by  the  objects  of  many  of 
the  internal  senses.  In  such  instances,  we  can  conceive  of  no  con- 
nexion between  the  effects  in  us  and  their  apparent  causes ; and 
the  only  account  we  can  give  is,  that  “such  is  our  frame;  so  God 


520 


RICHARD  PRICE 


has  seen  fit  to  adapt  our  faculties  and  particular  objects  to  one 
another.”  But  this  is  far  from  being  true  universally.  There  are 
objects  which  have  a natural  aptitude  to  please  or  displease  our 
minds.  And  thus  in  the  spiritual  world,  the  case  is  the  same,  as 
in  the  corporeal ; where,  though  there  are  events  which  we  cannot 
explain,  and  numberless  causes  and  effects  of  which,  for  want  of 
being  acquainted  with  the  inward  structure  and  constitution  of 
bodies,  we  know  no  more  than  their  existence:  there  are  also 
causes  the  manner  of  whose  operation  we  understand ; and  events, 
between  which  we  discern  a necessary  connexion. 

One  account,  therefore,  of  the  sentiments  we  are  examining, 
is : That  such  are  the  natures  of  certain  actions,  that,  when  per- 
ceived, there  must  result  certain  emotions  and  affections. 

That  there  are  objects  which  have  a natural  aptitude  to  please 
or  offend,  and  between  which  and  the  contemplating  mind  there 
is  a necessary  congruity  or  incongruity,  seems  to  me  unquestion- 
able. — For,  what  shall  we  say  of  supreme  and  complete  excel- 
lence ? Is  what  we  mean  by  this  only  a particular  kind  of  sensa- 
tion ; or,  if  something  real  and  objective,  can  it  be  contemplated 
without  emotion?  Must  there  be  the  aid  of  a sense  to  make  the 
character  of  the  Deity  appear  amiable;  or,  would  pure  and  ab- 
stract reason  be  indifferent  to  it?  Is  there  any  thing  more  neces- 
sary to  cause  it  to  be  loved  and  admired  besides  knowing  it  ? The 
more  it  is  known,  and  the  better  it  is  understood,  must  it  not  the 
more  delight? 

Again,  a reasonable  being,  void  of  all  superadded  determina- 
tions or  senses,  who  knows  what  order  and  happiness  are,  would, 
I think,  unavoidably,  receive  pleasure  from  the  survey  of  an  uni- 
verse where  perfect  order  prevailed;  and  the  contrary  prospect 
of  universal  confusion  and  misery  w-ould  offend  him. 

What  is  thus  true,  in  these  and  other  instances,  is  particularly 
evident  in  the  present  case.  It  is  not  indeed  plainer,  that,  in  any 
instances,  there  are  correspondencies  and  connexions  of  things 
among  themselves ; or  that  one  motion  has  a tendency  to  produce 
another ; than  it  is,  that  virtue  is  naturally  adapted  to  please  every 
observing  mind;  and  vice  the  contrary. 


PRINCIPAL  QUESTIONS  IN  MORALS  521 

To  return  therefore  from  this  digression.  The  observations 
now  made  will  not  account  for  all  our  feelings  and  affections  with 
respect  to  virtue  and  vice.  Our  intellectual  faculties  are  in  their 
infancy.  The  lowest  degrees  of  reason  are  sufficient  to  discover 
moral  distinctions  in  general ; because  these  are  self-evident,  and 
included  in  the  ideas  of  certain  actions  and  characters.  They 
must,  therefore,  appear  to  all  who  are  capable  of  making  actions 
the  objects  of  their  reflexion.  But  the  extent  to  which  they  appear, 
and  the  accuracy  and  force  with  which  they  are  discerned ; and, 
consequently,  their  influence,  must,  so  far  as  they  are  the  objects 
of  pure  intelligence,  be  in  proportion  to  the  strength  and  im- 
provement of  the  rational  faculties  of  beings  and  their  acquaint- 
ance with  truth  and  the  natures  of  things. 

From  hence,  it  must  appear,  that  in  men  it  is  necessary  that 
the  rational  principle,  or  the  intellectual  discernment  of  right  and 
wrong,  should  be  aided  by  instinctive  determinations.  — The 
dictates  of  mere  reason,  being  slow,  and  deliberate,  would  be 
otherwise  much  too  weak.  The  condition  in  which  w'e  are  placed, 
renders  many  urgent  passions  necessary  for  us;  and  these  cannot 
but  often  interfere  with  our  sentiments  of  rectitude.  Reason 
alone  (imperfect  as  it  is  in  us)  is  by  no  means  sufficient  to  defend 
us  against  the  danger  to  which,  in  such  circumstances,  we  are 
exposed.  Our  Maker  has,  therefore,  wisely  provided  remedies  for 
its  imperfections ; and  established  a due  balance  in  our  frame  by 
annexing  to  our  intellectual  perceptions  sensations  and  instincts, 
which  give  them  greater  weight  and  force. 

In  short  The  truth  seems  to  be  that,  “in  contemplating  the 
actions  of  moral  agents,  we  have  both  a perception  of  the  under- 
standing, and  a feeling  of  the  heart;  and  that  the  latter,  or  the 
effects  in  us  accompanying  our  moral  perceptions,  depend  on 
two  causes.  Partly,  on  the  positive  constitution  of  our  natures : 
but  principally  on  the  essential  congruity  or  incongruity  between 
moral  ideas  and  our  intellectual  faculties.” 

It  may  be  difficult  to  determine  the  precise  limits  between 
these  two  sources  of  our  mental  feelings ; and  to  say,  how  far  the 
effects  of  the  one  are  blended  with  those  of  the  other.  It  is  un- 
doubted, that  we  should  have  felt  and  acted  otherwise  than  we 


522 


RICHARD  PRICE 


now  do,  if  the  decisions  of  reason  had  been  left  entirely  without 
support;  nor  is  it  easy  to  imagine  how  pernicious  to  us  this  would 
have  proved.  On  this  account  it  cannot  be  doubted,  but  that 
both  the  causes  I have  mentioned  unite  their  influence : and  the 
great  question  in  morality  is,  not  whether  we  owe  much  to  im- 
planted senses  and  determinations;  but  whether  we  owe  all  to 
them. 

It  was,  probably,  in  consequence  of  not  duly  considering  the 
difference  I have  now  insisted  on  between  the  honestum  and 
pulchrum  (the  ScKaiov  and  Ka\6v) ; or  of  not  carefully  distinguish- 
ing between  the  discernment  of  the  mind  and  the  sensations 
attending  it  in  our  moral  perceptions ; that  the  Author  of  the 
Enquiry  into  the  Original  of  our  Ideas  of  Beauty  and  Virtue, 
was  led  to  derive  all  our  ideas  of  virtue  from  an  implanted  sense. 
Moral  good  and  evil,  he  everywhere  describes,  by  the  effects 
accompanying  the  perception  of  them.  The  rectitude  of  an  action 
is,  with  him,  the  same  with  its  gratefulness  to  the  observer;  and 
wrong,  the  contrary.  But  what  can  be  more  evident,  than  that 
right  and  pleasure,  wrong  and  pain,  are  as  different  as  a cause 
and  its  effect;  what  is  understood,  and  what  is  felt;  absolute  truth, 
and  its  agreeableness  to  the  mind.  — I.et  it  be  granted,  as  un- 
doubtedly it  must,  that  some  degree  of  pleasure  is  inseparable 
from  the  observation  of  virtuous  actions : ' It  is  just  as  unreason- 
able to  infer  from  hence,  that  the  discernment  of  virtue  is  nothing 
distinct  from  the  reception  of  this  pleasure ; as  it  would  be  to  infer, 
as  some  have  done,  that  solidity,  extension,  and  figure  are  only 
particular  modes  of  sensation;  because  attended,  whenever  they 
are  perceived,  with  some  sensations  of  sight  or  touch,  and  im- 
possible to  be  conceived  by  the  imagination  without  them. 

An  able  writer  on  these  subjects,  tells  us  that,  after  some  " 
doubts,  he  at  last  satisfied  himself,  that  all  beauty,  whether  natu- 
ral or  moral,  is  a species  of  absolute  truth ; as  resulting  from,  or 
consisting  in,  the  necessary  relations  and  congruities  of  ideas.  It 
is  not  easy  to  say  what  this  means.  Natural  beauty  will  be  con- 

’ The  virtue  of  an  action,  Mr.  Hume  says,  is  its  pleasing  us  after  a particular 
manner.  Treatise  of  Human  Nature,  vol.  iii. 

^ See  Mr.  Balguy’s  Tracts  on  the  Foundation  of  Moral  Goodness. 


PRINCIPAL  QUESTIONS  IN  MORALS  523 

sidered  presently.  And  as  to  moral  beauty,  one  would  think, 
that  the  meaning  must  be,  that  it  denotes  a real  quality  of  certain 
actions.  But  the  word  beauty  seems  always  to  refer  to  the  recep- 
tion of  pleasure;  and  the  beauty,  therefore,  of  an  action  or  char- 
acter, must  signify  its  being  such  as  pleases  us,  or  has  an  aptness 
to  please  when  perceived : nor  can  it  be  just  to  conceive  more  in 
the  action  itself,  or  to  affirm  more  of  it,  than  this  aptness,  or  that 
objective  goodness  or  rectitude  on  which  it  depends.  Beauty  and 
loveliness  are  synonymous;  but  an  object  self-lovely  can  only 
mean  an  object,  by  its  nature,  fitted  to  engage  love. 


THOMAS  REID 

( 1710-1796 ) 

ESSAYS  ON  THE  ACTIVE  POV/ERS 
OF  MAN* 

ESS JT  III.  CHAPTER  FI.  OF  THE  SENSE  OF  DUTY 

We  are  next  to  consider,  how  we  learn  to  judge  and  determine, 
that  this  is  right,  and  that  is  wrong. 

The  abstract  notion  of  moral  good  and  ill  would  be  of  no  use 
to  direct  our  life,  if  we  had  not  the  power  of  applying  it  to  par- 
ticular actions,  and  determining  what  is  morally  good,  and  what  is 
morally  ill. 

Some  philosophers,  with  whom  I agree,  ascribe  this  to  an  ori- 
ginal power  or  faculty  in  man,  which  they  call  the  Moral  Sense, 
the  Moral  Faculty,  Conscience.  Others  think  that  our  moral 
sentiments  may  be  accounted  for  without  supposing  any  original 
sense  or  faculty  appropriated  to  that  purpose,  and  go  into  very 
different  systems  to  account  for  them. 

I am  not,  at  present,  to  take  any  notice  of  those  systems,  be- 
cause the  opinion  first  mentioned  seems  to  me  to  be  the  truth ; to 
wit.  That,  by  an  original  power  of  the  mind,  when  we  come  to 
years  of  understanding  and  reflection,  we  not  only  have  the  no- 
tions of  right  and  wrong  in  conduct,  but  perceive  certain  things 
to  be  right,  and  others  to  be  wrong. 

The  name  of  the  Moral  Sense,  though  more  frequently  given 
to  Conscience  since  Lord  Shaftesbury  and  Dr.  Hutcheson  WTOte, 
is  not  new.  The  sensus  recti  et  honesti,  is  a phrase  not  unfrequent 
among  the  ancients;  neither  is  the  sense  of  duty,  among  us. 

It  has  got  this  name  of  sense,  no  doubt,  from  some  analogy 
which  it  is  conceived  to  bear  to  the  external  senses.  And,  if  we 
have  just  notions  of  the  office  of  the  external  senses,  the  analogy 

* Edinburgh,  1788.  Reprinted  from  The  Works  of  Thomas  Teid,  edited  by  Sir 
William  Hamilton,  Edinburgh,  1842;  ti.  1852. 


ACTIVE  POWERS  OF  MAN 


525 

is  very  evident,  and  I see  no  reason  to  take  offence,  as  some  have 
done,  at  the  name  of  the  moral  sense. 

The  offence  taken  at  this  name  seems  to  be  owing  to  this,  That 
philosophers  have  degraded  the  senses  too  much,  and  deprived 
them  of  the  most  important  part  of  their  office. 

We  are  taught,  that,  by  the  senses,  we  have  only  certain  ideas 
which  we  could  not  have  otherwise.  They  are  represented  as 
powers  by  which  we  have  sensations  and  ideas,  not  as  powers  by 
which  we  judge. 

This  notion  of  the  senses  I take  to  be  very  lame,  and  to  contra- 
dict what  nature  and  accurate  reflection  teach  concerning  them. 

A man  who  has  totally  lost  the  sense  of  seeing,  may  retain  very 
distinct  notions  of  the  various  colours;  but  he  cannot  judge  of 
colours,  because  he  has  lost  the  sense  by  which  alone  he  could 
judge.  By  my  eyes  I not  only  have  the  ideas  of  a square  and 
a circle,  but  I perceive  this  surface  to  be  a square,  that  to  be  a 
circle. 

By  my  ear,  I not  only  have  the  idea  of  sounds,  loud  and  soft, 
acute  and  grave,  but  I immediately  perceive  and  judge  this 
sound  to  be  loud,  that  to  be  soft,  this  to  be  acute,  that  to  be  grave. 
Two  or  more  synchronous  sounds  I perceive  to  be  concordant, 
others  to  be  discordant. 

These  are  judgments  of  the  senses.  They  have  always  been 
called  and  accounted  such,  by  those  whose  minds  are  not  tinc- 
tured by  philosophical  theories.  They  are  the  immediate  testi- 
mony of  nature  by  our  senses;  and  we  are  so  constituted  by 
nature,  that  we  must  receive  their  testimony,  for  no  other  reason 
but  because  it  is  given  by  our  senses. 

In  vain  do  sceptics  endeavour  to  overturn  this  evidence  by 
metaphysical  reasoning.  Though  we  should  not  be  able  to  an- 
swer their  arguments,  we  believe  our  senses  still,  and  rest  our 
most  important  concerns  upon  their  testimony. 

If  this  be  a just  notion  of  our  external  senses,  as  I conceive  it  is, 
our  m.oral  faculty  may,  I think,  without  impropriety,  be  called  the 
Moral  Sense. 

In  its  dignity  it  is,  without  doubt,  far  superior  to  every  other 
power  of  the  mind ; but  there  is  this  analogy  between  it  and  the 


THOMAS  REID 


526 

external  senses,  That,  as  by  them  we  have  not  only  the  original 
conceptions  of  the  various  qualities  of  bodies,  but  the  original 
judgment  that  this  body  has  such  a quality,  that  such  another  ; 
so  by  our  moral  faculty,  we  have  both  the  original  conceptions  of 
right  and  wrong  in  conduct,  of  merit  and  demerit,  and  the  original 
judgments  that  this  conduct  is  right,  that  is  wrong;  that  this  char- 
acter has  worth,  that  demerit. 

The  testimony  of  our  moral  faculty,  like  that  of  the  external 
senses,  is  the  testimony  of  nature,  and  we  have  the  same  reason 
to  rely  upon  it. 

The  truths  immediately  testified  by  the  external  senses  are 
the  first  principles  from  which  we  reason,  with  regard  to  the 
material  world,  and  from  which  all  our  knowledge  of  it  is  de- 
duced. 

The  truths  immediately  testified  by  our  moral  faculty,  are  the 
first  principles  of  all  moral  reasoning,  from  which  all  our  know- 
ledge of  our  duty  must  be  deduced. 

By  moral  reasoning,  I understand  all  reasoning  that  is  brought 
to  prove  that  such  conduct  is  right,  and  deserving  of  moral 
approbation ; or  that  it  is  wrong ; or  that  it  is  indifferent,  and,  in 
itself,  neither  morally  good  nor  ill. 

I think,  all  we  can  properly  call  moral  judgments,  are  reducible 
to  one  or  other  of  these,  as  all  human  actions,  considered  in  a 
moral  view,  are  either  good,  or  bad,  or  indifferent. 

I know  the  term  moral  reasoning  is  often  used  by  good  writers 
in  a more  extensive  sense;  but,  as  the  reasoning  I now  speak  of 
is  of  a peculiar  kind,  distinct  from  all  others,  and,  therefore, 
ought  to  have  a distinct  name,  I take  the  liberty  to  limit  the  name 
of  moral  reasoning  to  this  kind. 

Let  it  be  understood,  therefore,  that  in  the  reasoning  I call 
moral,  the  conclusion  always  is.  That  something  in  the  conduct 
of  moral  agents  is  good  or  bad,  in  a greater  or  a less  degree,  or 
indifferent. 

All  reasoning  must  be  grounded  on  first  principles.  This  holds 
in  moral  reasoning,  as  in  all  other  kinds.  There  must  be,  there- 
fore, in  morals,  as  in  all  other  sciences,  first  or  self-evident 
principles,  on  which  all  moral  reasoning  is  grounded,  and  on 


ACTIVE  POWERS  OF  MAN 


527 


which  it  ultimately  rests.  From  such  self-evident  principles, 
conclusions  may  be  drawn  synthetically  with  regard  to  the  moral 
conduct  of  life ; and  particular  duties  or  virtues  may  be  traced 
back  to  such  principles,  analytically.  But,  without  such  princi- 
ples, we  can  no  more  establish  any  conclusion  in  morals,  than  we 
can  build  a castle  in  the  air,  without  any  foundation. 

An  example  or  two  will  serve  to  illustrate  this. 

It  is  a first  principle  in  morals.  That  we  ought  not  to  do  to 
another  what  we  should  think  wrong  to  be  done  to  us  in  like 
circumstances.  If  a man  is  not  capable  of  perceiving  this  in  his 
cool  moments,  when  he  reflects  seriously,  he  is  not  a moral  agent, 
nor  is  he  capable  of  being  convinced  of  it  by  reasoning. 

From  what  topic  can  you  reason  with  such  a man?  You  may 
possibly  convince  him  by  reasoning,  that  it  is  his  interest  to  ob- 
serve this  rule;  but  this  is  not  to  convince  him  that  it  is  his  duty. 
To  reason  about  justice  with  a man  who  sees  nothing  to  be  just  or 
unjust,  or  about  benevolence  with  a man  who  sees  nothing  in 
benevolence  preferable  to  malice,  is  like  reasoning  with  a blind 
man  about  colour,  or  with  a deaf  man  about  sound. 

It  is  a question  in  morals  that  admits  of  reasoning,  Whether, 
by  the  law  of  nature,  a man  ought  to  have  only  one  wife  ? 

We  reason  upon  this  question,  by  balancing  the  advantages 
and  disadvantages  to  the  family,  and  to  society  in  general,  that 
are  naturally  consequent  both  upon  monogamy  and  polygamy. 
And,  if  it  can  be  shown  that  the  advantages  are  greatly  upon 
the  side  of  monogamy,  we  think  the  point  is  determined. 

But,  if  a man  does  not  perceive  that  he  ought  to  regard  the 
good  of  society,  and  the  good  of  his  wife  and  children,  the  rea- 
soning can  have  no  effect  upon  him,  because  he  denies  the  first 
principle  upon  which  it  is  grounded. 

Suppose,  again,  that  we  reason  for  monogamy  from  the  in- 
tention of  nature,  discovered  by  the  proportion  of  males  and  of 
females  that  are  born  — a proportion  which  corresponds  per- 
fectly with  monogamy,  but  by  no  means  with  polygamy  — this 
argument  can  have  no  weight  with  a man  who  does  not  per- 
ceive that  he  ought  to  have  a regard  to  the  intention  of  nature. 

Thus  we  shall  find  that  all  moral  reasonings  rest  upon  one 


THOMAS  REID 


' 528 

or  more  first  principles  of  morals,  whose  truth  is  immediately 
perceived  without  reasoning,  by  all  men  come  to  years  of  imder- 
standing. 

And  this  indeed  is  common  to  every  branch  of  human  know- 
ledge that  deserves  the  name  of  science.  There  must  be  first 
principles  proper  to  that  science,  by  which  the  whole  superstruc- 
ture is  supported. 

The  first  principles  of  all  the  sciences,  must  be  the  immediate 
dictates  of  our  natural  faculties;  nor  is  it  possible  that  we  should 
have  any  other  evidence  of  their  truth.  And  in  different  sciences 
the  faculties  which  dictate  their  first  principles  are  very  different. 

Thus,  in  astronomy  and  in  optics,  in  which  such  wonderful 
discoveries  have  been  made,  that  the  rmlearned  can  hardly 
believe  them  to  be  within  the  reach  of  human  capacity,  the  first 
principles  are  phenomena  attested  solely  by  that  little  organ  the 
human  eye.  If  we  disbelieve  its  report,  the  whole  of  those  two 
noble  fabrics  of  science  falls  to  pieces  like  the  visions  of  the  night. 

The  principles  of  music  all  depend  upon  the  testimony  of  the 
ear.  The  principles  of  natural  philosophy,  upon  the  facts  at- 
tested by  the  senses.  The  principles  of  mathematics,  upon  the 
necessary  relations  of  quantities  considered  abstractly  — such 
as.  That  equal  quantities  added  to  equal  quantities  make  equal 
sums,  and  the  like;  which  necessary  relations  are  immediately 
perceived  by  the  understanding. 

The  science  of  politics  borrows  its  principles  from  what  we 
know  by  experience  of  the  character  and  conduct  of  man.  We 
consider  not  what  he  ought  to  be,  but  what  he  is,  and  thence  con- 
clude what  part  he  will  act  in  different  situations  and  circum- 
stances. From  such  principles  we  reason  concerning  the  causes 
and  effects  of  different  forms  of  government,  laws,  customs, 
and  manners.  If  man  were  either  a more  perfect  or  a more  im- 
perfect, a better  or  a worse,  creature  than  he  is,  politics  would 
be  a different  science  from  what  it  is. 

The  first  principles  of  morals  are  the  immediate  dictates  of  the 
I moral  faculty.  They  show  us,  not  what  man  is,  but  what  he 
ought  to  be.  Whatever  is  immediately  perceived  to  be  just,  hon- 
est, and  honourable,  in  human  conduct,  carries-  moral  obligation 


ACTIVE  POWERS  OF  MAN 


529 


along  with  it,  and  the  contrary  carries  demerit  and  blame;  and, 
from  those  moral  obligations  that  are  immediately  perceived,  all 
other  moral  obligations  must  be  deduced  by  reasoning. 

He  that  will  judge  of  the  colour  of  an  object,  must  consult  his 
eyes,  in  a good  light,  when  there  is  no  medium  or  contiguous 
objects  that  may  give  it  a false  tinge.  But  in  vain  will  he  consult 
every  other  faculty  in  this  matter. 

In  like  manner,  he  that  will  judge  of  the  first  principles  of 
morals,  must  consult  his  conscience,  or  moral  faculty,  when  he 
is  calm  and  dispassionate,  unbiassed  by  interest,  affection,  or 
fashion. 

As  we  may  rely  upon  the  clear  and  distinct  testimony  of  our 
eyes,  concerning  the  colours  and  figures  of  the  bodies  about  us, 
we  have  the  same  reason  to  rely  with  security  upon  the  clear 
and  unbiassed  testimony  of  our  conscience,  with  regard  to  what 
we  ought  and  ought  not  to  do.  In  many  cases  moral  worth  and 
demerit  are  discerned  no  less  clearly  by  the  last  of  those  natural 
faculties,  than  figure  and  colour  by  the  first. 

The  faculties  which  nature  hath  given  us,  are  the  only  engines 
we  can  use  to  find  out  the  truth.  We  cannot  indeed  prove  that 
those  faculties  are  not  fallacious,  unless  God  should  give  us 
new  faculties  to  sit  in  judgment  upon  the  old.  But  we  are  born 
under  a necessity  of  trusting  them. 

Every  man  in  his  senses  believes  his  eyes,  his  ears,  and  his 
other  senses.  He  believes  his  consciousness  with  respect  to  his 
own  thoughts  and  purposes ; his  memory,  with  regard  to  what 
is  past;  his  understanding,  with  regard  to  abstract  relations  of 
things ; and  his  taste,  with  regard  to  what  is  elegant  and  beautiful. 
And  he  has  the  same  reason,  and,  indeed,  is  under  the  same  ne- 
cessity of  believing  the  clear  and  unbiassed  dictates  of  his  con- 
science, with  regard  to  what  is  honourable  and  w'hat  is  base. 

The  sum  of  what  has  been  said  in  this  chapter  is,  That,  by  an 
original  power  of  the  mind,  which  we  call  conscience,  or  the.- moral 
faculty,  we  have  the  conceptions  of  right  and  wrong  in  human 
conduct,  of  merit  and  demerit,  of  duty  and  moral  obligation,  and 
our  other  moral  conceptions;  and  that,  by  the  same  faculty, 
we  perceive  some  things  in  human  conduct  to  be  right,  and 


530 


THOMAS  REID 


others  to  be  wrong;  that  the  first  principles  of  morals  are  the 
dictates  of  this  faculty;  and  that  we  have  the  same  reason  to 
rely  upon  those  dictates,  as  upon  the  determinations  of  our 
senses,  or  of  our  other  natural  faculties^ 


ESSAY  V.  CHAPTER  I.  OF  THE  FIRST  PRINCI- 
PLES OF  MORALS 

Morals,  like  all  other  sciences,  must  have  first  principles,  on 
which  all  moral  reasoning  is  grounded. 

In  every  branch  of  knowledge  where  disputes  have  been  raised, 
it  is  useful  to  distinguish  the  first  principles  from  the  super- 
structure. They  are  the  foundation  on  which  the  whole  fabric 
of  the  science  leans ; and  whatever  is  not  supported  by  this  foun- 
dation can  have  no  stability. 

In  all  rational  belief,  the  thing  believed  is  either  itself  a first 
principle,  or  it  is  by  just  reasoning  deduced  from  first  principles. 
When  men  differ  about  deductions  of  reasoning,  the  appeal  must 
be  to  the  rules  of  reasoning,  which  have  been  very  unanimously 
fixed  from  the  days  of  Aristotle.  But  when  they  differ  about  the 
' first  principle,  the  appeal  is  made  to  another  tribunal  — to  that 
of  Common  Sense. 

How  the  genuine  decisions  of  Common  Sense  may  be  dis- 
tinguished from  the  counterfeit,  has  been  considered  in  Essay 
Sixth,  on  the  Intellectual  Powers  of  Man,  chapter  fourth,  to  which 
the  reader  is  referred.  What  I would  here  observe  is,  That,  as 
first  principles  differ  from  deductions  or  reasoning  in  the  nature  of 
their  evidence,  and  must  be  tried  by  a different  standard  when 
they  are  called  in  question,  it  is  of  importance  to  know  to  which 
of  these  two  classes  a truth  which  we  would  examine,  belongs. 
When  they 'are  not  distinguished,  men  are  apt  to  demand  proof 
^ for  everything  they  think  fit  to  deny.  And  when  we  attempt 
to  prove,  by  direct  argument,  what  is  really  self-evident,  the  rea- 
soning will  always  be  inconclusive;  for  it  will  either  take  for 

* This  theory  is  virtually  the  same  as  that  which  founds  morality  on  intelligence. 

The  Practical  Reason  of  Kant  is  not  essentially  different  from  the  Moral 
Sense,  the  Moral  Faculty  of  Reid  and  Stewart. 


ACTIVE  POWERS  OF  MAN 


531 


granted  the  thing  to  be  proved,  or  something  not  more  evident ; 
and  so,  instead  of  giving  strength  to  the  conclusion,  will  rather 
tempt  those  to  doubt  of  it  who  nev^er  did  so  before. 

I propose,  therefore,  in  this  chapter,  to  point  out  some  of 
the  first  principles  or  morals,  without  pretending  to  a complete 
enumeration. 

The  principles  I am  to  mention,  relate  either  [A]  to  virtue  in 
general,  or  [B]  to  the  different  particular  branches  of  virtue, 
or  [C]  to  the  comparison  of  virtues  where  they  seem  to  interfere. 

[A]  I.  There  are  some  things  in  human  conduct  that  merit 
approbation  and  praise,  others  that  rnerit  blame  and  punishment ; 
and  different  degrees  either  of  approbation  or  of  blame,  are  due 
to  different  actions. 

2.  What  is  in  no  degree  voluntary,  can  neither  deserve  moral 
approbation  nor  blame. 

3.  What  is  done  from  unavoidable  necessity  may  be  agreeable 
or  disagreeable,  useful  or  hurtful,  but  cannot  be  the  object  either 
of  blame  or  of  moral  approbation. 

4.  Men  may  be  highly  culpable  in  omitting  what  they  ought 
to  have  done,  as  well  as  in  doing  what  they  ought  not. 

5.  We  ought  to  use  the  best  means  we  can  to  be  well  informed 
of  our  duty  — by  serious  attention  to  moral  instruction;  by  ob- 
serving what  we  approve,  and  what  we  disapprove,  in  other  men, 
whether  our  acquaintance,  or  those  whose  actions  are  recorded 
in  history;  by  reflecting  often,  in  a calm  and  dispassionate  hour, 
on  our  own  past  conduct,  that  we  may  discern  what  was  wrong, 
what  was  right,  and  what  might  have  been  better ; by  deliberating 
coolly  and  impartially  upon  our  future  conduct,  as  far  as  we  can 
foresee  the  opportunities  we  may  have  of  doing  good,  or  the 
temptations  to  do  wrong;  and  by  having  this  principle  deeply 
fixed  in  our  minds,  that,  as  moral  excellence  is  the  true  worth 
and  glory  of  a man,  so  the  knowledge  of  our  duty  is  to  every  man, 
in  every  station  of  life,  the  most  important  of  all  knowledge. 

6.  It  ought  to  be  our  most  serious  concern  to  do  our  duty  as  far 
as  we  know  it,  and  to  fortify  our  minds  against  every  temptation 
to  deviate  from  it  — by  maintaining  a lively  sense  of  the  beauty 
of  right  conduct,  and  of  its  present  and  future  reward,  of  the  tur- 


532 


THOMAS  REID 


pitude  of  vice,  and  of  its  bad  consequences  here  and  hereafter; 
by  having  always  in  our  eye  the  noblest  examples ; by  the  habit 
of  subjecting  our  passions  to  the  government  of  reason;  by  firm 
purposes  and  resolutions  with  regard  to  our  conduct ; by  avoiding 
occasions  of  temptation  when  we  can;  and  by  imploring  the  aid 
of  Him  who  made  us,  in  every  hour  of  temptation. 

These  principles  concerning  virtue  and  vice  in  general,  must 
appear  self-evident  to  every  man  who  hath  a conscience,  and 
who  hath  taken  pains  to  exercise  this  natural  power  of  his  mind. 
I proceed  to  others  that  are  more  particular. 

[B]  I,  We  ought  to  prefer  a greater  good,  though  more  distant, 
to  a less ; and  a less  evil  to  a greater. 

A regard  to  our  own  good,  though  we  had  no  conscience,  dic- 
tates this  principle;  and  we  cannot  help  disapproving  the  man 
that  acts  contrary  to  it,  as  deserving  to  lose  the  good  which  he 
wantonly  threw  away,  and  to  suffer  the  evil  which  he  knowingly 
brought  upon  his  own  head. 

We  observed  before,  that  the  ancient  moralists,  and  many 
among  the  modern,  have  deduced  the  whole  of  morals  from  this 
principle,  and  that,  when  we  make  a right  estimate  of  goods  and 
evils  according  to  their  degree,  their  dignity,  their  duration,  and 
according  as  they  are  more  or  less  in  our  power,  it  leads  to  the 
practice  of  every  virtue.  More  directly,  indeed,  to  the  virtues 
of  self-government,  to  prudence,  to  temperance,  and  to  fortitude; 
and,  though  more  indirectly,  even  to  justice,  humanity,  and  all 
the  social  virtues,  when  their  influence  upon  our  happiness  is  well 
understood. 

Though  it  be  not  the  noblest  principle  of  conduct,  it  has  this 
peculiar  advantage,  that  its  force  is  felt  by  the  most  ignorant, 
even  by  the  most  abandoned. 

Let  a man’s  moral  judgment  be  ever  so  little  improved  by 
exercise,  or  ever  so  much  corrupted  by  bad  habits,  he  cannot 
be  indifferent  to  his  own  happiness  or  misery.  When  he  is  be- 
come insensible  to  every  nobler  motive  to  right  conduct,  he  can- 
not be  insensible  to  this.  And  though  to  act  from  this  motive 
solely  may  be  called  prudence  rather  than  virtue,  yet  this  prudence 
deserves  some  regard  upon  its  own  account,  and  much  more 


ACTIVE  POWERS  OF  MAN 


533 


as  it  is  the  friend  and  ally  of  virtue,  and  the  enemy  of  all  vice; 
and  as  it  gives  a favourable  testimony  of  virtue  to  those  who  are 
deaf  to  every  other  recommendation. 

If  a man  can  be  induced  to  do  his  duty  even  from  a regard  to 
his  own  happiness,  he  will  soon  find  reason  to  love  virtue  for  her 
own  sake,  and  to  act  from  motives  less  mercenary. 

I cannot  therefore  approve  of  those  moralists  who  would 
banish  all  persuasives  to  virtue  taken  from  the  consideration  of 
private  good.  In  the  present  state  of  human  nature  these  are 
not  useless  to  the  best,  and  they  are  the  only  means  left  of  re- 
claiming the  abandoned. 

2.  .4^  far  as  the  intention  of  nature  appears  in  the  constitution 
of  man,  we  ought  to  comply  with  that  intention,  and  to  act  agree- 
ably^ to  it. 

The  Author  of  our  being  hath  given  us  not  only  the  power  of 
acting  within  a limited  sphere,  but  various  principles  or  springs 
of  action,  of  different  nature  and  dignity,  to  direct  us  in  the  exer- 
cise of  our  active  power. 

From  the  constitution  of  every  species  of  the  inferior  animals, 
and  especially  from  the  active  principles  which  nature  has  given 
them,  we  easily  perceive  the  manner  of  life  for  which  nature  in- 
tended them ; and  they  uniformly  act  the  part  to  which  they  are 
led  by  their  constitution,  without  any  reflection  upon  it,  or  inten- 
tion of  obeying  its  dictates.  Man  only,  of  the  inhabitants  of  this 
world,  is  made  capable  of  observing  his  own  constitution,  what 
kind  of  life  it  is  made  for,  and  of  acting  according  to  that  inten- 
tion, or  contrary  to  it.  He  only  is  capable  of  yielding  an  inten- 
tional obedience  to  the  dictates  of  his  nature,  or  of  rebelling 
against  them. 

In  treating  of  the  principles  of  action  in  man,  it  has  been  shown, 
that,  as  his  natural  instincts  and  bodily  appetites  are  well  adapted 
to  the  preservation  of  his  natural  life,  and  to  the  continuance  of 
the  species ; so  his  natural  desires,  affections,  and  passions,  when 
uncorrupted  by  vicious  habits,  and  under  the  government  of  the 
leading  principles  of  reason  and  conscience,  are  excellently  fitted 
for  the  rational  and  social  life.  Every  vicious  action  shows  an 
excess,  or  defect,  or  wrong  direction  of  some  natural  spring  of 


534 


THOMAS  REID 


action,  and  therefore  may,  very  justly,  be  said  to  be  unnatural. 
Every  virtuous  action  agrees  with  the  uncorrupted  principles 
of  hmnan  nature. 

The  Stoics  defined  Virtue  to  be  a life  according  to  nature. 
Some  of  them  more  accurately,  a life  according  to  the  nature  of 
man,  in  so  far  as  it  is  superior  to  that  of  brutes.  The  life  of  a brute 
is  according  to  the  nature  of  the  brute;  but  it  is  neither  virtuous 
nor  vicious.  The  life  of  a moral  agent  cannot  be  according  to 
his  nature,  unless  it  be  virtuous.  That  conscience  which  is  in 
every  man’s  breast,  is  the  law  of  God  written  in  his  heart,  which 
he  cannot  disobey  without  acting  unnaturally,  and  being  self- 
condemned. 

The  intention  of  nature,  in  the  various  active  principles  of 
man  — in  the  desires  of  power,  of  knowledge,  and  of  estepm, 
in  the  affection  to  children,  to  near  relations,  and  to  the  commu- 
nities to  which  we  belong,  in  gratitude,  in  compassion,  and  even 
in  resentment  and  emulation  — is  very  obvious,  and  has  been 
pointed  out  in  treating  of  those  principles.  Nor  is  it  less  evident, 
that  reason  and  conscience  are  given  us  to  regulate  the  inferior 
principles,  so  that  they  may  conspire,  in  a regular  and  consistent 
plan  of  life,  in  pursuit  of  some  worthy  end. 

3.  No  man  is  born  for  himself  only.  Every  man,  therefore, 
ought  to  consider  himself  as  a member  of  the  common  society 
of  mankind,  and  of  those  subordinate  societies  to  which  he  be- 
longs, such  as  family,  friends,  neighbourhood,  country,  and  to 
do  as  much  good  as  he  can  and  as  little  hurt  to  the  societies  of 
which  he  is  a part. 

This  axiom  leads  directly  to  the  practice  of  every  social  vir- 
tue, and  indirectly  to  the  virtues  of  self-government,  by  which 
only  we  can  be  qualified  for  discharging  the  duty  we  owe  to 
society. 

4.  In  every  case,  we  ought  to  act  that  part  towards  another, 
which  we  would  judge  to  be  right  in  him  to  act  toward  us,  if  we 
were  in  his  circumstances  and  he  in  ours  ; or,  more  generally  — 
What  we  approve  in  others,  that  we  ought  to  practice  in  like  cir- 
cumstances, and  what  we  condemn  in  others,  we  ought  not  to  do. 

If  there  be  any  such  thing  as  right  and  wrong  in  the  conduct 


ACTIVE  POWERS  OF  MAN 


535 

of  moral  agents,  it  must  be  the  same  to  all  in  the  same  circum- 
stances. 

We  stand  all  in  the  same  relation  to  Him  who  made  us,  and  will 
call  us  to  account  for  our  conduct ; for  with  Him  there  is  no  re- 
spect of  persons.  We  stand  in  the  same  relation  to  one  another  as 
members  of  the  great  community  of  mankind.  The  duties  conse- 
quent upon  the  different  ranks  and  offices  and  relations  of  men 
are  the  same  to  all  in  the  same  circumstances. 

It  is  not  want  of  judgment,  but  want  of  candour  and  impartial- 
ity, that  hinders  men  from  discerning  what  they  owe  to  others. 
They  are  quicksighted  enough  in  discerning  what  is  due  to 
themselves.  When  they  are  injured,  or  ill-treated,  they  see  it,  and 
feel  resentment.  It  is  the  want  of  candour  that  makes  men  use 
one  measure  for  the  duty  they  owe  to  others,  and  another  measure 
for  the  duty  that  others  owe  to  them  in  like  circumstances.  That 
men  ought  to  judge  with  candour,  as  in  all  other  cases,  so  espe- 
cially in  what  concerns  their  moral  conduct,  is  surely  self-evi- 
dent to  every  intelligent  being.  The  man  who  takes  offence  when 
he  is  injured  in  his  person,  in  his  property,  in  his  good  name, 
pronounces  judgment  against  himself  if  he  act  so  toward  his 
neighbour. 

As  the  equity  and  obligation  of  this  rule  of  conduct  is  self-evi- 
dent to  every  man  wTo  hath  a conscience ; so  it  is,  of  all  the  rules 
of  morality,  the  most  comprehensive,  and  truly  deserves  the  en- 
comium given  it  by  the  highest  authority,  that  “^7  is  the  law  and 
the  prophets.’^ 

It  comprehends  every  rule  of  justice  without  exception.  It 
comprehends  all  the  relative  duties,  arising  either  from  the  more 
permanent  relations  of  parent  and  child,  of  master  and  servant, 
of  magistrate  and  subject,  of  husband  and  wife,  or  from  the  more 
transient  relations  of  rich  and  poor,  of  buyer  and  seller,  of 
debtor  and  creditor,  of  benefactor  and  beneficiary,  of  friend  and 
enemy.  It  comprehends  every  duty  of  charity  and  humanity,  and 
even  of  courtesy  and  good  manners. 

Nay,  I think,  that,  without  any  force  or  straining,  it  extends 
even  to  the  duties  of  self-government.  For,  as  every  man  approves 
in  others  the  virtues  of  prudence,  temperance,  self-command, 


THOMAS  REID 


536 

and  fortitude,  he  must  perceive  that  what  is  right  in  others 
must  be  right  in  himself  in  like  circumstances. 

To  sum  up  all,  he  who  acts  invariably  by  this  rule  will  never 
deviate  from  the  path  of  his  duty,  but  from  an  error  of  judg- 
ment. And,  as  he  feels  the  obligation  that  he  and  all  men  are 
under  to  use  the  best  means  in  his  power  to  have  his  judgment 
well-informed  in  matters  of  duty,  his  errors  will  only  be  such  as 
are  invincible. 

It  may  be  observed,  that  this  axiom  supposes  a faculty  in  man 
by  which  he  can  distinguish  right  conduct  from  wrong.  It  sup- 
poses also,  that,  by  this  faculty,  we  easily  perceive  the  right  and 
the  wrong  in  other  men  that  are  indifferent  to  us;  but  are  very 
apt  to  be  blinded  by  the  partiality  of  selfish  passions  when  the 
case  concerns  ourselves.  Every  claim  we  have  against  others  is 
apt  to  be  magnified  by  self-love,  when  viewed  directly.  A change 
of  persons  removes  this  prejudice,  and  brings  the  claim  to  appear 
in  its  just  magnitude. 

To  every  man  who  believes  the  existence,  the  perfections, 
and  the  providence  of  God,  the  veneration  and  submission  we  owe 
to  him  is  self-evident.  Right  sentiments  of  the  Deity  and  of  his 
works,  not  only  make  the  duty  we  owe  to  him  obvious  to  every 
intelligent  being,  but  likewise  add  the  authority  of  a Divine 
law  to  every  rule  of  right  conduct. 

[C]  There  is  another  class  of  axioms  in  morals,  by  which,  when 
there  seems  to  be  an  opposition  between  the  actions  that  dif- 
ferent virtues  lead  to,  we  determine  to  which  the  preference  is 
due. 

Between  the  several  virtues,  as  they  are  dispositions  of  mind, 
or  determinations  of  will,  to  act  according  to  a certain  general 
rule,  there  can  be  no  opposition.  They  dwell  together  most 
amicably,  and  give  mutual  aid  and  ornament,  without  the  pos- 
sibility of  hostility  or  opposition,  and,  taken  altogether,  make 
one  uniform  and  consistent  rule  of  conduct.  But,  between  par- 
ticular external  actions,  which  different  virtues  would  lead  to, 
there  may  be  an  opposition.  Thus,  the  same  man  may  be  in  his 
heart,  generous,  grateful,  and  just.  These  dispositions  strengthen, 
but  never  can  weaken  one  another.  Yet  it  may  happen,  that  an 


ACTIVE  POWERS  OF  MAN 


537 

external  action  which  generosity  or  gratitude  solicits,  justice  may 
forbid. 

That  in  all  such  cases,  unmerited  generosity  should  yield  to 
gratitude,  and  both  to  justice,  is  self-evident.  Nor  is  it  less  so, 
that  unmerited  beneficence  to  those  who  are  at  ease  should  yield  to 
compassion  to  the  miserable,  and  external  acts  of  piety  to  works 
of  mercy,  because  God  loves  mercy  more  than  sacrifice. 

At  the  same  time,  we  perceive,  that  those  acts  of  virtue  which 
ought  to  yield  in  the  case  of  a competition,  have  most  intrinsic 
worth  when  there  is  no  competition.  Thus,  it  is  evident  that 
there  is  more  worth  in  pure  and  unmerited  benevolence  than  in 
compassion,  more  in  compassion  than  in  gratitude,  and  more 
in  gratitude  than  in  justice. 

I call  these  first  principles,  because  they  appear  to  me  to  have 
in  themselves  an  intuitive  evidence  which  I cannot  resist.  I find 
I can  express  them  in  other  words.  I can  illustrate  them  by  ex- 
amples and  authorities,  and  perhaps  can  deduce  one  of  them 
from  another ; but  I am  not  able  to  deduce  them  from  other  prin- 
ciples that  are  more  evident.  And  I find  the  best  moral  reason- 
ings of  authors  I am  acquainted  with,  ancient  and  modern, 
Heathen  and  Christian,  to  be  grounded  upon  one  or  more  of 
them. 

The  evidence  of  mathematical  axioms  is  not  discerned  till 
men  come  to  a certain  degree  of  maturity  of  understanding.  A 
boy  must  have  formed  the  general  conception  of  quantity,  and  of 
more  and  less  and  equal,  of  sum  and  difference;  and  he  must  have 
been  accustomed  to  judge  of  these  relations  in  matters  of  common 
life,  before  he  can  perceive  the  evidence  of  the  mathematical 
axiom  — that  equal  quantities,  added  to  equal  quantities,  make 
equal  sums. 

In  like  manner,  our  Moral  Judgment  or  Conscience  grows  to 
maturity  from  an  imperceptible  seed,  planted  by  our  Creator. 
When  we  are  capable  of  contemplating  the  actions  of  other  men, 
or  of  reflecting  upon  our  own  calmly  and  dispassionately,  we 
begin  to  perceive  in  them  the  qualities  of  honest  and  dishon- 
est, of  honourable  and  base,  of  right  and  wrong,  and  to  feel  the 
sentiments  of  moral  approbation  and  disapprobation. 


THOMAS  REID 


538 

These  sentiments  are  at  first  feeble,  easily  warped  by  passions 
and  prejudices,  and  apt  to  yield  to  authority.  By  use  and  time, 
the  judgment,  in  morals,  as  in  other  matters,  gathers  strength, 
and  feels  more  vigour.  We  begin  to  distinguish  the  dictates  of 
passion  from  those  of  cool  reason,  and  to  perceive  that  it  is  not 
always  safe  to  rely  upon  the  judgment  of  others.  By  an  impulse 
of  nature,  we  venture  to  judge  for  ourselves,  as  we  venture  to 
walk  by  ourselves. 

There  is  a strong  analogy  between  the  progress  of  the  body 
from  infancy  to  maturity,  and  the  progress  of  all  the  powers  of 
the  mind.  This  progression  in  both  is  the  work  of  nature,  and 
in  both  may  be  greatly  aided  or  hurt  by  proper  education.  It  is 
natural  to  a man  to  be  able  to  walk,  or  run,  or  leap;  but,  if  his 
limbs  had  been  kept  in  fetters  from  his  birth,  he  would  have  none 
of  those  powers.  It  is  no  less  natural  to  a man  trained  in  society, 
and  accustomed  to  judge  of  his  own  actions  and  those  of  other 
men,  to  perceive  a right  and  a wrong,  an  honourable  and  a base, 
in  human  conduct;  and  to  such  a man,  I think,  the  principles 
of  morals  I have  above  mentioned  will  appear  self-evident.  Yet 
there  may  be  individuals  of  the  human  species  so  little  accus- 
tomed to  think  or  judge  of  anything  but  of  gratifying  their  animal 
appetites,  as  to  have  hardly  any  conception  of  right  or  wrong 
in  conduct,  or  any  moral  judgment;  as  there  certainly  are  some 
who  have  not  the  conceptions  and  the  judgment  necessary  to 
understand  the  axioms  of  geometry. 

From  the  principles  above  mentioned,  the  whole  system  of 
moral  conduct  follows  so  easily,  and  with  so  little  aid  of  reason- 
ing, that  every  man  of  common  understanding,  who  wishes  to 
know  his  duty,  may  know  it.  The  path  of  duty  is  a plain  path, 
which  the  upright  in  heart  can  rarely  mistake.  Such  it  must  be, 
since  every  man  is  bound  to  walk  in  it.  There  are  some  intri- 
cate  cases  in  morals  which  admit  of  disputation ; but  these  seldom 
occur  in  practice;  and,  when  they  do,  the  learned  disputant  has 
no  great  advantage : for  the  unlearned  man,  who  uses  the  best 
means  in  his  power  to  know  his  duty,  and  acts  according  to  his 
knowledge,  is  inculpable  in  the  sight  of  God  and  man.  He  may 
err,  but  he  is  not  guilty  of  immorality. 


IMMANUEL  KANT 

( 1724-1804) 

THE  METAPHYSIC  OF  MORALITY 

Selections  translated  from  the  German  * by 
JOHN  WATSON 

SECTION  I.  TRJNSITION  FROM  ORDINJRT 
MORAL  CONCEPTIONS  TO  THE  PHILOSO- 
PHICAL CONCEPTION  OF  MORALITY 

Nothing  in  the  whole  world,  or  even  outside  of  the  world,  can 
possibly  be  regarded  as  good  without  limitation  except  a good 
will.  No  doubt  it  is  a good  and  desirable  thing  to  have  intelligence, 
sagacity,  judgment,  and  other  intellectual  gifts,  by  whatever  name 
they  may  be  called ; it  is  also  good  and  desirable  in  many  respects 
to  possess  by  nature  such  qualities  as  courage,  resolution,  and 
perseverance ; but  all  these  gifts  of  nature  may  be  in  the  highest 
degree  pernicious  and  hurtful,  if  the  will  which  directs  them, 
or  what  is  called  the  character,  is  not  itself  good.  The  same  thing 
applies  to  gifts  of  fortune.  Power,  wealth,  honour,  even  good 
health,  and  that  general  well-being  and  contentment  with  one’s 
lot  which  we  call  happiness,  give  rise  to  pride  and  not  infrequently 
to  insolence,  if  a man’s  will  is  not  good;  nor  can  a reflective  and 
impartial  spectator  ever  look  with  satisfaction  upon  the  unbroken 
prosperity  of  a man  who  is  destitute  of  the  ornament  of  a pure 
and  good  will.  A good  will  would  therefore  seem  to  be  the  in- 
dispensable condition  without  which  no  one  is  even  worthy  to  be 
happy. 

A man’s  will  is  good,  not  because  the  consequences  which  flow 
from  it  are  good,  nor  because  it  is  capable  of  attaining  the  ends 

* From  ’K.a.nt's  Grundlegung  zur  Metaphysik  der  Sitten,  Riga,  1785;  2.  Aufl. 
1787.  Reprinted  from  The  Philosophy  of  Kant,  as  contained  in  extracts  frojii  his 
writings,  selected  and  translated  by  John  Watson,  LL.  D.,  new  ed.,  Glasgow, 
1901. 


540 


IMMANUEL  KANT 


which  it  seeks,  but  it  is  good  in  itself,  or  because  it  wills  the  good. 
By  a good  will  is  not  meant  mere  well-wishing;  it  consists  in  a 
resolute  employment  of  all  the  means  within  one’s  reach,  and 
its  intrinsic  value  is  in  no  w'ay  increased  by  success  or  lessened  by 
failure. 

This  idea  of  the  absolute  value  of  mere  will  seems  so  extraor- 
dinary that,  although  it  is  endorsed  even  by  the  popular  judg- 
ment, we  must  subject  it  to  careful  scrutiny. 

If  nature  had  meant  to  provide  simply  for  the  maintenance, 
the  well-being,  in  a w^ord  the  happiness,  of  beings  which  have 
reason  and  will,  it  must  be  confessed  that,  in  making  use  of  their 
reason,  it  has  hit  upon  a very  poor  way  of  attaining  its  end.  As 
a matter  of  fact  the  very  worst  way  a man  of  refinement  and  cul- 
ture can  take  to  secure  enjoyment  and  happiness  is  to  make  use 
of  his  reason  for  that  purpose.  Hence  there  is  apt  to  arise  in  his 
mind  a certain  degree  of  misology,  or  hatred  of  reason.  Finding 
that  the  arts  which  minister  to  luxury,  and  even  the  sciences, 
instead  of  bringing  him  happiness,  only  lay  a heavier  yoke  on  his 
neck,  he  at  length  comes  to  envy,  rather  than  to  despise,  men  of 
less  refinement,  who  follow  more  closely  the  promptings  of  their 
natural  impulses,  and  pay  little  heed  to  what  reason  tells  them  to 
do  or  to  leave  undone.  It  must  at  least  be  admitted,  that  one  may 
deny  reason  to  have  much  or  indeed  any  value  in  the  production 
of  happiness  and  contentment,  without  taking  a morose  or  un- 
grateful view  of  the  goodness  with  which  the  world  is  governed. 
Such  a judgment  really  means  that  life  has  another  and  a much 
nobler  end  than  happiness,  and  that  the  true  vocation  of  reason 
is  to  secure  that  end. 

The  true  object  of  reason  then,  in  so  far  as  it  is  practical, 
or  capable  of  influencing  the  will,  must  be  to  produce  a will 
which  is  good  in  itself,  and  not  merely  good  as  a means  to  some- 
thing else.  This  will  is  not  the  only  or  the  whole  good,  but  it  is 
the  highest  good,  and  the  condition  of  all  other  good,  even  of  the 
desire  for  happiness  itself.  It  is  therefore  not  inconsistent  with 
the  wisdom  of  nature  that  the  cultivation  of  reason  which  is 
essential  to  the  furtherance  of  its  first  and  unconditioned  object, 
the  production  of  a good  will,  should,  in  this  life  at  least,  in  many 


THE  METAPHYSIC  OF  MORALITY  541 

ways  limit,  or  even  make  impossible,  the  attainment  of  happiness, 
which  is  its  second  and  conditioned  object. 

To  bring  to  clear  consciousness  the  conception  of  a will  which 
is  good  in  itself,  a conception  already  familiar  to  the  popular 
mind,  let  us  examine  the  conception  of  duty,  which  involves  the 
idea  of  a good  will  as  manifested  under  certain  subjective  limita- 
tions and  hindrances. 

I pass  over  actions  which  are  admittedly  violations  of  duty, 
for  these,  however  useful  they  may  be  in  the  attainment  of  this 
or  that  end,  manifestly  do  not  proceed  from  duty.  I set  aside  also 
those  actions  which  are  not  actually  inconsistent  with  duty,  but 
which  yet  are  done  under  the  impulse  of  some  natural  inclination, 
although  not  a direct  inclination  to  do  these  particular  actions; 
for  in  these  it  is  easy  to  determine  whether  the  action  that  is  con- 
sistent with  duty,  is  done  from  duty  or  with  some  selfish  object  in 
view.  It  is  more  difficult  to  make  a clear  distinction  of  motives 
when  there  is  a direct  inclination  to  do  a certain  action,  which  is 
itself  in  conformity  with  duty.  The  preservation  of  one’s  own 
life,  for  instance,  is  a duty;  but,  as  every  one  has  a natural  inclina- 
tion to  preserve  his  life,  the  anxious  care  which  most  men  usually 
devote  to  this  object,  has  no  intrinsic  value,  nor  the  maxim  from 
which  they  act  any  moral  import.  They  preserve  their  life  in 
accordance  with  duty,  but  not  because  of  duty.  But,  suppose  ad- 
versity and  hopeless  sorrow  to  have  taken  away  all  desire  for  life; 
suppose  that  the  wretched  man  would  welcome  death  as  a release, 
and  yet  takes  means  to  prolong  his  life  simply  from  a sense  of 
duty;  then  his  maxim  has  a genuine  moral  import. 

But,  secondly,  an  action  that  is  done  from  duty  gets  its  moral 
value,  not  from  the  object  which  it  is  intended  to  secure,  but  from 
the  maxim  by  which  it  is  determined.  Accordingly,  the  action 
has  the  same  moral  value  whether  the  object  is  attained  or  not, 
if  only  the  principle  by  wffiich  the  will  is  determined  to  act  is 
independent  of  every  object  of  sensuous  desire.  What  was  said 
above  makes  it  clear,  that  it  is  not  the  object  aimed  at,  or,  in 
other  words,  the  consequences  which  flow  from  an  action  when 
these  are  made  the  end  and  motive  of  the  will,  that  can  give  to 
the  action  an  unconditioned  and  moral  value.  In  what,  then,  can 


542 


IMMANUEL  KANT 


the  moral  value  of  an  action  consist,  if  it  does  not  lie  in  the  will 
itself,  as  directed  to  the  attainment  of  a certain  object  ? It  can 
lie  only  in  the  principle  of  the  will,  no  matter  whether  the  object 
sought  can  be  attained  by  the  action  or  not.  For  the  will  stands 
as  it  were  at  the  parting  of  the  ways,  between  its  a priori  prin- 
ciple, which  is  formal,  and  its  a posteriori,  material  motive.  As 
so  standing  it  must  be  determined  by  something,  and,  as  no  action 
which  is  done  from  duty  can  be  determined  by  a material  prin- 
ciple, it  can  be  determined  only  by  the  formal  principle  of  all 
volition. 

From  the  two  propositions  just  set  forth  a third  directly  fol- 
lows, which  may  be  thus  stated:  Duty  is  the  obligation  to  act 
from  reverence  for  law.  Now,  I may  have  a natural  inclination 
for  the  object  that  I expect  to  follow  from  my  action,  but  I can 
never  have  reverence  for  that  which  is  not  a spontaneous  activity 
of  my  will,  but  merely  an  effect  of  it ; neither  can  I have  reverence 
for  any  natural  inclination,  whether  it  is  my  own  or  another’s. 
If  it  is  my  own,  I can  at  most  only  approve  of  it ; if  it  is  manifested 
by  another,  I may  regard  it  as  conducive  to  my  own  interest,  and 
hence  I may  in  certain  cases  even  be  said  to  have  a love  for  it. 
But  the  only  thing  which  I can  reverence  or  which  can  lay  me 
under  an  obligation  to  act,  is  the  law  which  is  connected  with  my 
will,  not  as  a consequence,  but  as  a principle;  a principle  which 
is  not  dependent  upon  natural  inclination,  but  overmasters  it, 
or  at  least  allows  it  to  have  no  influence  whatever  in  determining 
my  course  of  action.  Now  if  an  action  which  is  done  out  of  regard 
for  duty  sets  entirely  aside  the  influence  of  natural  inclination  and 
along  with  it  every  object  of  the  will,  nothing  else  is  left  by  which 
the  will  can  be  determined  but  objectively  the  law  itself,  and 
subjectively  pure  reverence  for  the  law  as  a principle  of  action. 
Thus  there  arises  the  maxim,  to  obey  the  moral  law  even  at  the 
sacrifice  of  all  my  natural  inclinations. 

The  supreme  good  which  we  call  moral  can  therefore  be 
nothing  but  the  idea  of  the  law  in  itself,  in  so  far  as  it  is  this  idea 
which  determines  the  will,  and  not  any  consequences  that  are 
expected  to  follow.  Only  a rational  being  can  have  such  an  idea, 
and  hence  a man  v/ho  acts  from  the  idea  of  the  law  is  already 


THE  METAPHYSIC  OF  MORALITY  543 

morally  good,  no  matter  whether  the  consequences  which  he 
expects  from  his  action  follow  or  not. 

Now  what  must  be  the  nature  of  a law,  the  idea  of  which  is 
to  determine  the  will,  even  apart  from  the  effects  expected  to 
follow,  and  which  is  therefore  itself  entitled  to  be  called  good 
absolutely  and  without  qualification?  As  the  will  must  not  be 
moved  to  act  from  any  desire  for  the  results  expected  to  follow 
from  obedience  to  a certain  law,  the  only  principle  of  the  will 
which  remains  is  that  of  the  conformity  of  actions  to  universal 
law.  In  all  cases  I must  act  in  such  a way  that  I can  at  the  same 
time  will  that  my  maxim  should  become  a universal  law.  This 
is  what  is  meant  by  conformity  to  law  pure  and  simple;  and 
this  is  the  principle  which  serves,  and  must  serve,  to  determine 
the  will,  if  the  idea  of  duty  is  not  to  be  regarded  as  empty  and 
chimerical.  As  a matter  of  fact  the  judgments  which  we  are  wont 
to  pass  upon  conduct  perfectly  agree  with  this  principle,  and  in 
making  them  we  always  have  it  before  our  eyes. 

May  I,  for  instance,  under  the  pressure  of  circumstances, 
make  a promise  which  I have  no  intention  of  keeping  ? The  ques- 
tion is  not,  whether  it  is  prudent  to  make  a false  promise,  but 
whether  it  is  morally  right.  To  enable  me  to  answer  this  ques- 
tion shortly  and  conclusively,  the  best  way  is  for  me  to  ask  myself 
whether  it  would  satisfy  me  that  the  maxim  to  extricate  myself 
from  embarrassment  by  giving  a false  promise  should  have  the 
force  of  a universal  law,  applying  to  others  as  well  as  to  myself. 
And  I see  at  once,  that,  while  I can  certainly  will  the  lie,  I cannot 
will  that  lying  should  be  a universal  law.  If  lying  were  universal, 
there  would,  properly  speaking,  be  no  promises  whatever.  I 
might  say  that  I intended  to  do  a certain  thing  at  some  future 
time,  but  nobody  would  believe  me,  or  if  he  did  at  the  moment 
trust  to  my  promise,  he  would  afterwards  pay  me  back  in  my 
own  coin.  My  maxim  thus  proves  itself  to  be  self-destructive, 
so  soon  as  it  is  taken  as  a imiversal  law. 

Duty,  then,  consists  in  the  obligation  to  act  from  pure  rever- 
ence for  the  moral  law.  To  this  motive  all  others  must  give  way, 
for  it  is  the  condition  of  a will  which  is  good  in  itself,  and  which 
has  a value  with  which  nothing  else  is  comparable. 


544 


IMMANUEL  KANT 


There  is,  however,  in  man  a strong  feeling  of  antagonism 
to  the  commands  of  duty,  although  his  reason  tells  him  that 
those  commands  are  worthy  of  the  highest  reverence.  For  man  not 
only  possesses  reason,  but  he  has  certain  natural  wants  and  incli- 
nations, the  complete  satisfaction  of  which  he  calls  happiness. 
These  natural  inclinations  clamorously  demand  to  have  their 
seemingly  reasonable  claims  respected;  but  reason  issues  its 
commands  inflexibly,  refusing  to  promise  anything  to  the  natural 
desires,  and  treating  their  claims  with  a sort  of  neglect  and  con- 
tempt. From  this  there  arises  a natural  dialectic,  that  is,  a dis- 
position to  explain  away  the  strict  laws  of  duty,  to  cast  doubt 
upon  their  validity,  or  at  least,  upon  their  purity  and  stringency, 
and  in  this  way  to  make  them  yield  to  the  demands  of  the  natural 
inclinations. 

Thus  men  are  forced  to  go  beyond  the  narrow  circle  of  ideas 
within  which  their  reason  ordinarily  moves,  and  to  take  a step 
into  the  field  of  moral  philosophy,  not  indeed  from  any  percep- 
tion of  speculative  difficulties,  but  simply  on  practical  grounds. 
The  practical  reason  of  men  cannot  be  long  exercised  any  more 
than  the  theoretical,  without  falling  insensibly  into  a dialectic, 
which  compels  it  to  call  in  the  aid  of  philosophy ; and  in  the  one 
case  as  in  the  other,  rest  can  be  found  only  in  a thorough  criti- 
cism of  human  reason. 


SECTION  II.  TRANSITION  FROM  POPULAR 
MORAL  PHILOSOPHY  TO  THE  METAPHYSIC 
OF  MORALITY 

So  far,  we  have  drawn  our  conception  of  duty  from  the  manner 
in  which  men  employ  it  in  the  ordinary  exercise  of  their  practical 
reason.  The  conception  of  duty,  however,  we  must  not  suppose 
to  be  therefore  derived  from  experience.  On  the  contrary,  we  hear 
frequent  complaints,  the  justice  of  which  we  cannot  but  admit, 
that  no  one  can  point  to  a single  instance  in  which  an  action  has 
undoubtedly  been  done  purely  from  a regard  for  duty;  that  there 
are  certainly  many  actions  which  are  not  opposed  to  duty,  but 


THE  METAPHYSIC  OF  MORALITY  545 

none  which  are  indisputably  done  from  duty  and  therefore  have 
a moral  value.  Nothing  indeed  can  secure  us  against  the  complete 
loss  of  our  ideas  of  duty,  and  maintain  in  the  soul  a well-grounded 
respect  for  the  moral  law,  but  the  clear  conviction,  that  reason 
issues  its  commands  on  its  own  authority,  without  caring  in  the 
least  whether  the  actions  of  men  have,  as  a matter  of  fact,  been 
done  purely  from  ideas  of  duty.  For  reason  commands  inflexibly 
that  certain  actions  should  be  done,  which  perhaps  never  have 
been  done ; actions,  the  very  possibility  of  which  may  seem  doubt- 
ful to  one  who  bases  everything  upon  experience.  Perfect  disin- 
terestedness in  friendship,  for  instance,  is  demanded  of  every 
man,  although  there  may  never  have  been  a sincere  friend ; for 
pure  friendship  is  bound  up  with  the  idea  of  duty  as  duty,  and 
belongs  to  the  very  idea  of  a reason  which  determines  the  will 
on  a priori  grounds,  prior  to  all  experience. 

It  is,  moreover,  beyond  dispute,  that  unless  we  are  to  deny  to 
morality  all  truth  and  all  reference  to  a possible  object,  the  moral 
law  has  so  wide  an  application  that  it  is  binding,  not  merely  upon 
man,  but  upon  all  rational  beings,  and  not  merely  under  certain 
contingent  conditions,  and  with  certain  limitations,  but  abso- 
lutely and  necessarily.  And  it  is  plain,  that  no  experience  could 
ever  lead  us  to  suppose  that  laws  of  this  apodictic  character  are 
even  possible. 

There  is,  therefore,  no  genuine  supreme  principle  of  morality, 
which  is  not  independent  of  all  experience,  and  based  entirely 
upon  pure  reason.  If,  then,  we  are  to  have  a philosophy  of 
morality  at  all,  as  distinguished  from  a popular  moral  philosophy, 
we  may  take  it  for  granted  without  further  investigation,  that 
moral  conceptions,  together  with  the  principles  which  flow  from 
them,  are  given  a priori  and  must  be  presented  in  their  generality 
{in  abstracto). 

Such  a metaphysic  of  morality,  which  must  be  entirely  free 
from  all  admixture  of  empirical  psychology,  theology,  phi'sics, 
and  hyperphysics,  and  above  all  from  all  occult  or,  as  we  may  call 
them,  hypophysical  qualities,  is  not  only  indispensable  as  a foun- 
dation for  a sound  theory  of  duties,  but  it  is  also  of  the  highest 
importance  in  the  practical  realization  of  moral  precepts.  For 


IMMANUEL  KANT 


546 

the  pure  idea  of  duty,  unmixed  with  any  foreign  ingredient  of 
sensuous  desire,  in  a word,  the  idea  of  the  moral  law,  influences 
the  heart  of  man  much  more  powerfully  through  his  reason,  which 
in  this  way  only  becomes  conscious  that  it  can  of  itself  be  practical, 
than  do  all  the  motives  which  have  their  source  in  experience. 
Conscious  of  its  own  dignity,  the  moral  law  treats  all  sensuous 
desires  with  contempt,  and  is  able  to  master  them  one  by  one. 

From  what  has  been  said  it  is  evident,  that  all  moral  concep- 
tions have  their  seat  and  origin  in  reason  entirely  a priori,  and 
are  apprehended  by  the  ordinary  reason  of  men  as  well  as  by 
reason  in  its  purely  speculative  activity.  We  have  also  seen  that 
it  is  of  the  greatest  importance,  not  only  in  the  construction  by 
speculative  reason  of  a theory  of  morality,  but  also  with  a view 
to  the  practical  conduct  of  life,  to  derive  the  conceptions  and 
laws  of  morality  from  pure  reason,  to  present  them  pure  and 
unmixed,  and  to  mark  out  the  sphere  of  this  whole  practical  or 
pure  knowledge  of  reason.  Nor  is  it  permissible,  in  seeking  to 
determine  the  whole  faculty  of  pure  practical  reason,  to  make 
its  principles  dependent  upon  the  peculiar  nature  of  human  rea- 
son, as  we  were  allowed  to  do,  and  sometimes  were  even  forced 
to  do,  in  speculative  philosophy,  for  moral  laws  must  apply  to 
every  rational  being,  and  must  therefore  be  derived  from  the  very 
conception  of  a rational  being  as  such. 

To  show  the  need  of  advancing  not  only  from  the  common 
moral  judgments  of  men  to  the  philosophical,  but  from  a popu- 
lar philosophy,  which  merely  gropes  its  way  by  the  help  of  ex- 
amples, to  a metaphysic  of  morality,  we  must  begin  at  the  point 
where  the  practical  faculty  of  reason  supplies  general  rules  of 
action,  and  exhibit  clearly  the  steps  by  which  it  attains  to  the 
conception  of  duty. 

Everything  in  nature  acts  in  conformity  with  law.  Only  a 
rational  being  has  the  faculty  of  acting  in  conformity  with  the  < 
idea  of  law,  or  from  principles;  only  a rational  being,  in  other  ] 
words,  has  a will.  And  as  without  reason  actions  cannot  proceed  | 
from  laws,  will  is  simply  practical  reason.  If  the  will  is  infallibly  1 
determined  by  reason,  the  actions  of  a rational  being  are  subject-  ^ 
ively  as  well  as  objectively  necessary;  that  is,  will  must  be  re-'-J 


THE  METAPHYSIC  OF  MORALITY  547 

garded  as  a faculty  of  choosing  that  only  which  reason,  independ- 
ently of  natural  inclination,  declares  to  be  practically  necessary 
or  good.  On  the  other  hand,  if  the  will  is  not  invariably  deter- 
mined by  reason  alone,  but  is  subject  to  certain  subjective  con- 
ditions or  motives,  which* are  not  always  in  harmony  with  the 
objective  conditions;  if  the  will,  as  actually  is  the  case  with  man, 
is  not  in  perfect  conformity  with  reason;  actions  which  are  re- 
cognized to  be  objectively  necessary,  are  subjectively  contingent. 
The  determination  of  such  a will  according  to  objective  law^s  is 
therefore  called  obligation.  That  is  to  say,  if  the  will  of  a rational 
being  is  not  absolutely  good,  we  conceive  of  it  as  capable  of  being 
determined  by  objective  laws  of  reason,  but  not  as  by  its  very 
nature  necessarily  obeying  them. 

The  idea  that  a certain  principle  is  objective,  and  binding 
upon  the  will,  is  a command  of  reason,  and  the  statement  of  the 
command  in  a formula  is  an  imperative. 

All  imperatives  are  expressed  by  the  word  ought,  to  indicate 
that  the  will  upon  which  they  are  binding  is  not  by  its  subjective 
constitution  necessarily  determined  in  conformity  with  the  object- 
ive law  of  reason.  An  imperative  says,  that  the  doing,  or  leaving 
undone  of  a certain  thing  would  be  good,  but  it  addresses  a will 
which  does  not  ahvays  do  a thing  simply  because  it  is  good.  Nov/, 
that  is  practically  good  which  determines  the  will  by  ideas  of 
reason,  in  other  words,  that  which  determines  it,  not  by  sub- 
jective influences,  but  by  principles  which  are  objective,  or  apply 
to  all  rational  beings  as  such.  Good  and  pleasure  are  quite  dis- 
tinct. Pleasure  results  from  the  influence  of  purely  subjective 
causes  upon  the  will  of  the  subject,  and  these  vary  with  the  sus- 
ceptibility of  this  or  that  individual,  while  a principle  of  reason 
is  valid  for  all. 

A perfectly  good  will  would,  like  the  will  of  man,  stand  under 
objective  laws,  laws  of  the  good,  but  it  could  not  be  said  to  be 
under  an  obligation  to  act  in  conformity  with  those  laws.  Such 
a will  by  its  subjective  constitution  could  be  determined  only 
by  the  idea  of  the  good.  In  reference  to  the  Divine  will,  or  any 
other  holy  will,  imperatives  have  no  mxCaning;  for  here  the  will 
is  by  its  very  nature  necessarily  in  harmony  with  the  law,  and 


IMMANUEL  KANT 


548 

therefore  ought  has  no  application  to  it.  Imperatives  are  for-1 
mulae,  which  express  merely  the  relation  of  objective  laws  of 
volition  in  general  to  the  imperfect  will  of  this  or  that  rational  | 
being,  as  for  instance,  the  will  of  man.  | 

Now,  all  imperatives  command  eilher  hypothetically  or  cate- 1 
gorically.  A hypothetical  imperative  states  that  a certain  thing 
must  be  done,  if  something  else  which  is  willed,  or  at  least  might 
be  willed,  is  to  be  attained.  The  categorical  imperative  declares 
that  an  act  is  in  itself  or  objectively  necessary,  without  any  refer- 
ence to  another  end. 

Every  practical  law  represents  a possible  action  as  good,  and 
therefore  as  obligatory  for  a subject  that  is  capable  of  being 
determined  to  act  by  reason.  Hence  all  imperatives  are  formulae 
for  the  determination  of  an  action  which  is  obligatory  according 
to  the  principle  of  a will  that  is  in  some  sense  good.  If  the  action 
is  good  only  because  it  is  a means  to  something  else,  the  impera- 
tive is  hypothetical ; if  the  action  is  conceived  to  be  good  in  itself, 
the  imperative,  as  the  necessary  principle  of  a will  that  in  itself 
conforms  to  reason,  is  categorical. 

An  imperative,  then,  states  what  possible  action  of  mine  w'ould 
be  good.  It  supplies  the  practical  rule  for  a will  which  does  not 
at  once  do  an  act  simply  because  it  is  good,  either  because  the 
subject  does  not  know  it  to  be  good,  or  because,  knowing  it 
to  be  good,  he  is  influenced  by  maxims  which  are  opposed  to  the 
objective  principles  of  a practical  reason. 

The  hypothetical  imperative  says  only  that  an  action  is  good 
relatively  to  a certain  possible  end  or  to  a certain  actual  end. 
In  the  former  case  it  is  problematic,  in  the  latter  case  assertoric. 
The  categorical  imperative,  which  affirms  that  an  action  is  in 
itself  or  objectively  necessary  without  regard  to  an  end,  that  is/ 
without  regard  to  any  other  end  than  itself,  is  an  apodictic  prac-L 
tical  principle. 

Whatever  is  within  the  power  of  a rational  being  may  be  con^ 
ceived  to  be  capable  of  being  willed  by  some  rational  being,  and^ 
hence  the  principles  which  determine  w'hat  actions  are  necessary 
in  the  attainment  of  certain  possible  ends,  are  infinite  in  number. 

Yet  there  is  one  thing  which  we  may  assume  that  all  finite 


THE  METAPHYSIC  OF  MORALITY  549 

rational  beings  actually  make  their  end,  and  there  is  therefore  one 
object  which  may  safely  be  regarded,  not  simply  as  something 
that  they  may  seek,  but  as  something  that  by  a necessity  of  their 
nature  they  actually  do  seek.  This  object  is  happiness.  The 
hypothetical  imperative,  which  affirms  the  practical  necessity 
of  an  action  as  the  means  of  attaining  happiness,  is  assertoric. 
We  must  not  think  of  happiness  as  simply  a possible  and  prob- 
lematic end,  but  as  an  end  that  we  may  with  confidence  presup- 
pose a priori  to  be  sought  by  every  one,  belonging  as  it  does  to 
the  very  nature  of  man.  Now  skill  in  the  choice  of  means  to  his 
own  greatest  well-being  may  be  called  prudence,  taking  the  word 
in  its  more  restricted  sense.  An  imperative,  therefore,  which  re- 
lates merely  to  the  choice  of  means  to  one’s  own  happiness,  that 
is,  a maxim  of  prudence,  must  be  hypothetical ; it  commands  an 
action,  not  absolutely,  but  only  as  a means  to  another  end. 

Lastly,  there  is  an  imperative  which  directly  commands  an 
action,  without  presupposing  as  its  condition  that  some  other 
end  is  to  be  attained  by  means  of  that  action.  This  imperative 
is  categorical.  It  has  to  do,  not  with  the  matter  of  an  action  and 
the  result  expected  to  follow  from  it,  but  simply  with  the  form  and 
principle  from  which  the  action  itself  proceeds.  The  action  is 
essentially  good  if  the  motive  of  the  agent  is  good,  let  the  conse- 
quences be  what  they  may.  This  imperative  may  be  called  the 
imperative  of  morality. 

How  are  all  these  imperatives  possible?  The  question  is  not, 
How  is  an  action  which  an  imperative  commands  actually  real- 
ized ? but.  How  can  we  think  of  the  will  as  placed  under  obliga- 
tion by  each  of  those  imperatives?  Very  little  need  be  said  to 
show  how  an  imperative  of  skill  is  possible.  He  who  wills  the 
end,  wills  also  the  means  in  his  power  which  are  indispensable 
to  the  attainment  of  the  end.  Looking  simply  at  the  act  of  will, 
we  must  say  that  this  proposition  is  analytic.  If  a certain  object 
is  to  follow  as  an  effect  from  my  volition,  my  causality  must  be 
conceived  as  active  in  the  production  of  the  effect,  or  as  employ- 
ing the  means  by  which  the  effect  will  take  place.  The  impera- 
tive, therefore,  simply  states  that  in  the  conception  of  the  willing 
of  this  end  there  is  directly  implied  the  conception  of  actions 


IMMANUEL  KANT 


550 

necessary  to  this  end.  No  doubt  certain  synthetic  propositions 
are  required  to  determine  the  particular  means  by  which  a given 
end  may  be  attained,  but  these  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
principle  or  act  of  the  will,  but  merely  state  how  the  object  may 
actually  be  realized. 

Were  it  as  easy  to  give  a definite  conception  of  happiness  as 
of  a particular  end,  the  imperatives  of  prudence  would  be  of 
exactly  the  same  nature  as  the  imperatives  of  skill,  and  would 
therefore  be  analytic.  For,  we  should  be  able  to  say,  that  he  who 
wills  the  end  wills  also  the  only  means  in  his  power  for  the  attain- 
ment of  the  end.  But,  unfortunately,  the  conception  of  happiness 
is  so  definite,  that,  although  every  man  desires  to  obtain  it,  he 
is  unable  to  give  a definite  and  self-consistent  statement  of  what 
he  actually  desires  and  wills.  The  truth  is,  that,  strictly  speak- 
ing, the  imperatives  of  prudence  are  not  commands  at  all.  They 
do  not  say  that  actions  are  objective  or  necessary,  and  hence 
they  must  be  regarded  as  counsels  {consilia),  not  as  commands 
{prcBcepta)  of  reason.  Still,  the  imperative  of  prudence  would  be 
an  analytic  proposition,  if  the  means  to  happiness  could  only  be 
known  with  certainty.  For  the  only  difference  in  the  two  cases 
is  that  in  the  imperative  of  skill  the  end  is  merely  possible,  in  the 
imperative  of  prudence  it  is  actually  given;  and  as  in  both  all  that 
is  commanded  is  the  means  to  an  end  which  is  assumed  to  be 
willed,  the  imperative  which  commands  that  he  who  wills  the 
end  should  also  will  the  means,  is  in  both  cases  analytic.  There 
is  therefore  no  real  difficulty  in  seeing  how  an  imperative  of  pru- 
dence is  possible. 

The  only  question  which  is  difficult  of  solution,  is,  how  the 
imperative  of  morality  is  possible.  Here  the  imperative  is  not 
hypothetical,  and  hence  we  cannot  derive  its  objective  necessity 
from  any  presupposition.  Nor  must  it  for  a moment  be  forgotten, 
that  an  imperative  of  this  sort  cannot  be  established  by  instances 
taken  from  experience.  We  must  therefore  find  out  by  careful 
investigation,  whether  imperatives  which  seem  to  be  categorical 
may  not  be  simply  hypothetical  imperatives  in  disguise. 

One  thing  is  plain  at  the  very  outset,  namely,  that  only  a 
categorical  imperative  can  have  the  dignity  of  a practical  law, 


THE  METAPHYSIC  OF  MORALITY  551 

and  that  the  other  imperatives,  while  they  may  no  doubt  be  called 
principles  of  the  will,  cannot  be  called  laws.  An  action  which 
is  necessary  merely  as  a means  to  an  arbitrary  end,  may  be  re- 
garded as  itself  contingent,  and  if  the  end  is  abandoned,  the 
maxim  which  prescribes  the  action  has  no  longer  any  force.  An 
unconditioned  command,  on  the  other  hand,  does  not  permit 
the  will  to  choose  the  opposite,  and  therefore  it  carries  with  it 
the  necessity  which  is  essential  to  a law. 

It  is,  however,  very  hard  to  see  how  there  can  be  a categorical 
imperative  or  law  of  morality  at  all.  Such  a law  is  an  a priori 
synthetic  proposition,  and  we  cannot  expect  that  there  will  be 
less  difficulty  in  showing  how  a proposition  of  that  sort  is  pos- 
sible in  the  sphere  of  morality  than  we  have  found  it  to  be  in  the 
sphere  of  knowledge. 

In  attempting  to  solve  this  problem,  we  shall  first  of  all  in- 
quire, whether  the  mere  conception  of  a categorical  imperative 
may  not  perhaps  supply  us  with  a formula,  which  contains  the 
only  proposition  that  can  possibly  be  a categorical  imperative. 
The  more  difficult  question,  how  such  an  absolute  command  is 
possible  at  all,  will  require  a special  investigation,  which  must 
be  postponed  to  the  last  section. 

If  I take  the  mere  conception  of  a hypothetical  imperative, 
I cannot  tell  v hat  it  may  contain  until  the  condition  under  which 
it  applies  is  presented  to  me.  But  I can  tell  at  once  from  the  very 
conception  of  a categorical  imperative  what  it  must  contain. 
Viewed  apart  from  the  law,  the  imperative  simply  affirms  that  the 
maxim,  or  subjective  principle  of  action,  must  conform  to  the 
objective  principle  or  law.  Now  the  law  contains  no  condition  to 
which  it  is  restricted,  and  hence  nothing  remains  but  the  state- 
ment, that  the  maxim  ought  to  conform  to  the  universality  of  the 
law  as  such.  It  is  only  this  conformity  to  law  that  the  imperative 
can  be  said  to  represent  as  necessary. 

There  is  therefore  but  one  categorical  imperative,  which  may 
be  thus  stated : Act  in  conformity  with  that  maxim,  and  that 
maxim  only,  which  you  can  at  the  same  time  will  to  he  a universal 
law. 

Now,  if  from  this  single  imperative,  as  from  their  principle, 


552 


IMMANUEL  KANT 


all  imperatives  of  duty  can  be  derived,  we  shall  at  least  be  able 
to  indicate  what  we  mean  by  the  categorical  imperative  and 
what  the  conception  of  it  implies,  although  we  shall  not  be  able 
to  say  whether  the  conception  of  duty  may  not  itself  be  empty. 

The  universality  of  the  law  which  governs  the  succession  of 
events,  is  what  we  mean  by  nature,  in  the  most  general  sense, 
that  is,  the  existence  of  things,  in  so  far  as  their  existence  is 
determined  in  conformity  with  universal  laws.  The  universal 
imperative  of  duty  might  therefore  be  put  in  this  way:  Act  as  if 
the  maxim  from  which  you  act  were  to  become  through  your  will 
a universal  law  of  nature. 

If  we  attend  to  what  goes  on  in  ourselves  in  every  transgres- 
sion of  a duty,  we  find  that  we  do  not  will  that  our  maxim  should 
become  a universal  law.  We  find  it  in  fact  impossible  to  do  so, 
and  we  really  will  that  the  opposite  of  our  maxim  should  remain 
a universal  law,  at  the  same  time  that  we  assume  the  liberty  of 
making  an  exception  in  favour  of  natural  inclination  in  our  own 
case,  or  perhaps  only  for  this  particular  occasion.  Hence,  if 
we  looked  at  all  cases  from  the  same  point  of  view,  that  is,  from 
the  point  of  view  of  reason,  we  should  see  that  there  was  here 
a contradiction  in  our  will.  The  contradiction  is,  that  a certain 
principle  is  admitted  to  be  necessary  objectively  or  as  a universal 
law,  and  yet  is  held  not  to  be  universal  subjectively,  but  to  admit 
of  exceptions.  What  we  do  is,  to  consider  our  action  at  one  time 
from  the  point  of  view  of  a will  that  is  in  perfect  conformity  with 
reason,  and  at  another  time  from  the  point  of  view  of  a will  that 
is  under  the  influence  of  natural  inclination.  There  is,  there- 
fore, here  no  real  contradiction,  but  merely  an  antagonism  of 
inclination  to  the  command  of  reason.  The  universality  of  the 
principle  is  changed  into  a mere  generality,  in  order  that  the 
practical  principle  of  reason  may  meet  the  maxim  half  way.  Not 
only  is  this  limitation  condemned  by  our  own  impartial  judgment, 
but  it  proves  that  we  actually  recognize  the  validity  of  the  cat- 
egorical imperative,  and  merely  allow  ourselves  to  make  a few 
exceptions  in  our  own  favour  which  we  try  to  consider  as  of  no 
importance,  or  as  a necessary  concession  to  circumstances. 

This  much  at  least  we  have  learned,  that  if  the  idea  of  duty 


THE  METAPHYSIC  OF  MORALITY  553 

is  to  have  any  meaning  and  to  lay  down  the  laws  of  our  actions, 
it  must  be  expressed  in  categorical  and  not  in  hypothetical  im- 
peratives. We  have  also  obtained  a clear  and  distinct  conception 
(a  very  important  thing),  of  what  is  implied  in  a categorical  im- 
perative which  contains  the  principle  of  duty  for  all  cases,  grant- 
ing such  an  imperative  to  be  possible  at  all.  But  we  have  not  yet 
been  able  to  prove  a priori,  that  there  actually  is  such  an  impera- 
tive; that  there  is  a practical  law  which  commands  absolutely 
on  its  own  authority,  and  is  independent  of  all  sensuous  impulses ; 
and  that  duty  consists  in  obedience  to  this  law. 

In  seeking  to  reach  this  point,  it  is  of  the  greatest  importance 
to  observe,  that  the  reality  of  this  principle  cannot  possibly  be 
derived  from  the  peculiar  constitution  of  human  nature.  For  by 
duty  is  meant  the  practically  unconditioned  necessity  of  an  act, 
and  hence  we  can  show  that  duty  is  a law  for  the  will  of  all 
human  beings,  only  by  showing  that  it  is  applicable  to  all  ra- 
tional beings,  or  rather  to  all  rational  beings  to  whom  an  imper- 
ative applies  at  all. 

The  question,  then,  is  this : Is  it  a necessary  law  for  all  rational 
beings,  that  they  must  always  estimate  the  value  of  their  actions 
by  asking  whether  they  can  will  that  their  maxims  should  serve 
as  universal  laws  ? If  there  is  such  a law,  it  must  be  possible  to 
prove  entirely  a priori,  that  it  is  bound  up  with  the  very  idea  of 
the  will  of  a rational  being.  To  show  that  there  is  such  a connec- 
tion we  must,  however  reluctantly,  take  a step  into  the  realm  of 
metaphysic;  not,  however,  into  the  realm  of  speculative  philo- 
sophy, but  into  the  metaphysic  of  morality.  For  we  have  here  to 
deal  with  objective  practical  laws,  and  therefore  with  the  relation 
of  the  will  to  itself,  in  so  far  as  it  is  determined  purely  by  reason. 
All  relation  of  the  will  to  what  is  empirical  is  excluded  as  a 
matter  of  course,  for  if  reason  determines  the  relation  entirely 
by  itself,  it  must  necessarily  do  so  a priori. 

Will  is  conceived  of  as  a faculty  of  determining  itself  to  action 
in  accordance  with  the  idea  of  certain  laws.  Such  a faculty  can 
belong  only  to  a rational  being.  Now  that  which  serves  as  an 
objective  principle  for  the  self-determination  of  the  will  is  an 
end,  and  if  this  end  is  given  purely  by  reason,  it  must  hold  for 


554 


IMMANUEL  KANT 


all  rational  beings.  On  the  other  hand,  that  which  is  merely  the 
condition  of  the  possibility  of  an  action  the  effect  of  which  is 
the  end,  is  called  the  means.  The  subjective  ground  of  desire  is 
natural  inclination,  the  objective  ground  of  volition  is  a motive; 
hence  there  is  a distinction  between  subjective  ends,  which  de- 
pend upon  natural  inclination,  and  objective  ends,  which  are 
connected  with  motives  that  hold  for  every  rational  being.  Prac- 
tical principles  that  abstract  from  all  subjective  ends  are  for- 
mal ; those  that  presuppose  subjective  ends,  and  therefore  natural 
inclinations,  are  material.  The  ends  which  a rational  being 
arbitrarily  sets  before  himself  as  material  ends  to  be  produced  by 
his  actions,  are  all  merely  relative;  for  that  which  gives  to  them 
their  value  is  simply  their  relation  to  the  peculiar  susceptibility 
of  the  subject.  They  can  therefore  yield  no  universal  and  neces- 
sary principles,  or  practical  laws,  applicable  to  all  rational  beings, 
and  binding  upon  every  will.  Upon  such  relative  ends,  therefore, 
only  hypothetical  imperatives  can  be  based. 

Suppose,  however,  that  there  is  something  the  existence  of 
which  has  in  itself  an  absolute  value,  something  which,  as  tin 
end  in  itself,  can  be  a ground  of  definite  laws ; then,  there  would 
lie  in  that,  and  only  in  that,  the  ground  of  a possible  categorical 
imperative  or  practical  law. 

Now,  I say,  that  man,  and  indeed  every  rational  being  as  such, 
exists  as  an  end  in  himself,  not  merely  as  a means  to  be  made  use 
of  by  this  or  that  will,  and  therefore  man  in  all  his  actions,  whether 
these  are  directed  towards  himself  or  towards  other  rational  beings, 
must  always  be  regarded  as  an  end.  No  object  of  natural  desire 
has  more  than  a conditioned  value;  for  if  the  natural  desires, 
and  the  wants  to  which  they  give  rise,  did  not  exist,  the  object 
to  which  they  are  directed  would  have  no  value  at  all.  So  far  i 
are  the  natural  desires  and  wants  from  having  an  absolute  value, 
so  far  are  they  from  being  sought  simply  for  themselves,  that 
every  rational  being  must  wish  to  be  entirely  free  from  their  influ- 
ence. The  value  of  every  object  which  human  action  is  the  means 
of  obtaining,  is,  therefore,  always  conditioned.  And  even  beings  j 
whose  existence  depends  upon  nature,  not  upon  our  will,  if  they  " 
are  without  reason  have  only  the  relative  value  of  means,  and  are 


THE  METAPHYSIC  OF  MORALITY  555 

therefore  called  things.  Rational  beings,  on  the  other  hand,  are 
called  persons,  because  their  very  nature  shows  them  to  be  ends 
in  themselves,  that  is,  something  which  cannot  be  made  use  of 
simply  as  a means.  A person  being  thus  an  object  of  respect, 
a certain  limit  is  placed  upon  arbitrary  will.  Persons  are  not 
purely  subjective  ends,  whose  existence  has  a value  for  us  as  the 
effect  of  our  actions,  but  they  are  objective  ends,  or  beings  whose 
existence  is  an  end  in  itself,  for  which  no  other  end  can  be  sub- 
stituted. If  all  value  were  conditioned,  and  therefore  contin- 
gent, it  would  be  impossible  to  show  that  there  is  any  supreme 
practical  principle  whatever. 

If,  then,  there  is  a supreme  practical  principle,  a principle 
which  in  relation  to  the  human  will  is  a categorical  imperative, 
it  must  be  an  objective  principle  of  the  will,  and  must  be  able 
to  serve  as  a universal  practical  law.  For,  such  a principle  must 
be  derived  from  the  idea  of  that  which  is  necessarily  an  end  for 
every  one  because  it  is  an  end  in  itself.  Its  foundation  is  this, 
that  rational  nature  exists  as  an  end. in  itself.  Man  necessarily 
conceives  of  his  own  existence  in  this  way,  and  so  far  this  is  a 
subjective  principle  of  human  action.  But  in  this  way  also  every 
other  rational  being  conceives  of  h’s  own  existence,  and  for  the 
very  same  reason ; hence  the  principle  is  also  objective,  and  from 
it,  as  the  highest  practical  ground,  all  laws  of  the  will  must  be 
capable  of  being  derived.  The  practical  imperative  will  therefore 
be  this ; Act  so  as  to  use  humanity,  whether  in  your  own  person  or 
in  the  person  of  another,  always  as  an  end,  never  as  merely  a means. 

The  principle,  that  humanity  and  every  rational  nature  is  an 
end  in  itself,  is  not  borrowed  from  experience.  For,  in  the  first 
place,  because  of  its  universality  it  applies  to  all  rational  beings, 
and  no  experience  can  apply  so  widely.  In  the  second  place,  it 
does  not  regard  humanity  subjectively,  as  an  end  of  man,  that  is, 
as  an  object  which  the  subject  of  himself  actually  makes  his 
end,  but  as  an  objective  end,  which  ought  to  be  regarded  as  a law 
that  constitutes  the  supreme  limiting  condition  of  all  subjective 
ends,  and  which  must  therefore  have  its  source  in  pure  reason. 
The  objective  ground  of  all  practical  laws  consists  in  the  rule 
and  the  form  of  universality,  which  makes  them  capable  of  serv- 


IMMANUEL  KANT 


556 

ing  as  laws,  but  their  subjective  ground  consists  in  the  end  to 
which  they  are  directed.  Now,  by  the  second  principle,  every 
rational  being,  as  an  end  in  himself,  is  the  subject  of  all  ends. 
From  this  follows  the  third  practical  principle  of  the  will,  which 
is  the  supreme  condition  of  its  harmony  with  universal  practical 
reason,  namely,  the  idea  of  the  will  of  every  rational  being  as  a 
will  which  lays  down  universal  laws  of  action. 

This  formula  implies,  that  a will  which  is  itself  the  supreme 
lawgiver  cannot  possibly  act  from  interest  of  any  sort  in  the  law, 
although  no  doubt  a will  may  stand  under  the  law,  and  may  yet 
be  attached  to  it  by  the  bond  of  interest. 

At  the  point  we  have  now  reached,  it  does  not  seem  surprising 
that  all  previous  attempts  to  find  out  the  principle  of  morality 
should  have  ended  in  failure.  It  was  seen  that  man  is  bound 
under  law  by  duty,  but  it  did  not  strike  any  one,  that  the  universal 
system  of  laws  to  which  he  is  subject  are  laws  which  he  imposes 
upon  himself,  and  that  he  is  only  under  obligation  to  act  in  con- 
formity with  his  own  will,  a will  which  by  the  purpose  of  nature 
prescribes  universal  laws.  Now  so  long  as  man  is  thought  to  be 
merely  subject  to  law,  no  matter  what  the  law  may  be,  he  must 
be  regarded  as  stimulated  or  constrained  to  obey  the  law  from 
interest  of  some  kind;  for  as  the  law  does  not  proceed  from  his 
own  will,  there  must  be  something  external  to  his  will  which  com- 
pels him  to  act  in  conformity  with  it.  This  perfectly  necessary 
conclusion  frustrated  every  attempt  to  find  a supreme  principle 
of  duty.  Duty  was  never  established,  but  merely  the  necessity  of 
acting  from  some  form  of  interest,  private  or  public.  The  impera- 
tive was  therefore  necessarily  always  conditioned,  and  could  not 
possibly  have  the  force  of  a moral  command.  The  supreme 
principle  of  morality  I shall  therefore  call  the  principle  of  the 
autonomy  of  the  will,  to  distinguish  it  from  all  other  principles, 
which  I call  principles  of  heteronomy. 

The  conception  that  every  rational  being  in  all  the  maxims 
of  his  will  must  regard  himself  as  prescribing  universal  laws,  by 
reference  to  which  himself  and  all  his  actions  are  to  be  judged, 
leads  to  a cognate  and  very  fruitful  conception,  that  of  a kingdom 
of  ends. 


THE  METAPHYSIC  OF  MORALITY  557 

'5>y*kingdom,  I mean  the  systematic  combination  of  different 
rational  beings  through  the  medium  of  common  laws.  Now, 
laws  determine  certain  ends  as  universal,  and  hence,  if  abstrac- 
tion is  made  from  the  individual  differences  of  rational  beings, 
and  from  all  that  is  peculiar  to  their  private  ends,  we  get  the  idea 
of  a complete  totality  of  ends  combined  in  a system;  in  other 
w'ords,  we  are  able  to  conceive  of  a kingdom  of  ends,  which 
conforms  to  the  principles  formulated  above. 

All  rational  beings  stand  under  the  law,  that  each  should  treat 
himself  and  others,  never  simply  as  means,  but  always  as  at  the 
same  time  ends  in  themselves.  Thus  there  arises  a systematic 
combination  of  rational  beings  through  the  medium  of  common 
objective  laws.  This  may  well  be  called  a kingdom  of  ends,  be- 
cause the  object  of  those  laws  is  just  to  relate  all  rational  beings 
to  one  another  as  ends  and  means.  Of  course  this  kingdom  of 
ends  is  merely  an  ideal. 

Morality,  then,  consists  in  the  relation  of  all  action  to  the 
system  of  laws  which  alone  makes  possible  a kingdom  of  ends. 
These  laws  must  belong  to  the  nature  of  every  rational  being, 
and  must  proceed  from  his  own  will.  The  principle  of  the  will, 
therefore,  is,  that  no  action  should  be  done  from  any  other  maxim 
than  one  which  is  consistent  with  a universal  law.  This  may  be 
expressed  in  the  formula : Act  so  that  the  will  may  regard  itself 
as  in  its  maxims  laying  down  universal  laws.  Now,  if  the  maxims 
of  rational  beings  are  not  by  their  very  nature  in  harmony  with 
this  objective  principle,  the  principle  of  a universal  system  of 
laws,  the  necessity  of  acting  in  conformity  with  that  principle  is 
called  practical  obligation  or  duty.  No  doubt  duty  does  not  apply 
to  the  sovereign  will  in  the  kingdom  of  ends,  but  it  applies  to 
every  member  of  it,  and  to  all  in  equal  measure.  Autonomy  is 
thus  the  foundation  of  the  moral  value  of  man  and  of  every  other 
rational  being. 

The  three  w^ays  in  which  the  principle  of  morality  has  been 
formulated  are  at  bottom  simply  different  statements  of  the  same 
law,  and  each  implies  the  other  two. 

An  absolutely  good  will,  then,  the  principle  of  which  must  be 
a categorical  imperative,  will  be  undetermined  as  regards  all 


IMMANUEL  KANT 


558 

objects,  and  will  contain  merely  the  form  of  volition  in  geheral, 
a form  which  rests  upon  the  autonomy  of  the  will.  The  one  law 
which  the  will  of  every  rational  being  imposes  upon  itself,  and 
imposes  without  reference  to  any  natural  impulse  or  any  interest, 
is,  that  the  maxims  of  every  good  will  must  be  capable  of  being 
made  a universal  law. 

How  such  an  a priori  synthetic  practical  proposition  is  possible, 
and  why  it  is  necessary,  is  a problem  which  it  is  not  the  task  of 
a metaphysic  of  morality  to  solve.  We  have  not  even  affirmed  it 
to  be  true,  much  less  have  we  attempted  to  prove  its  truth.  To 
prove  that  practical  reason  is  capable  of  being  employed  syn- 
thetically, and  that  morality  is  not  a mere  fiction  of  the  brain, 
requires  us  to  enter  upon  a criticism  of  the  faculty  of  practical 
reason  itself.  In  the  next  section  we  shall  state  the  main  points 
which  must  be  proved  in  a Critique  of  Practical  Reason,  so  far 
as  is  necessary  for  our  present  purpose. 

SE CTION  III.  TR  JNSITION  FROM  THE  ME TA- 
PHTSIC  OF  MORALITY  TO  THE  CRITIQUE 
OF  PRACTICAL  REASON 

The  Idea  of  Freedom  as  the  Key  to  the  Autonomy 
OF  THE  Will 

The  will  is  the  causality  of  living  beings  in  so  far  as  they  are 
rational.  Freedom  is  that  causality  in  so  far  as  it  can  be  regarded 
as  efficient  without  being  determined  to  activity  by  any  cause 
other  than  itself.  Natural  necessity  is  the  property  of  all  non- 
rational  beings  to  be  determined  to  activity  by  some  cause 
external  to  themselves. 

The  definition  of  freedom  just  given  is  negative,  and  therefore 
it  does  not  tell  us  what  freedom  is  in  itself;  but  it  prepares  the 
way  for  a positive  conception  of  a more  specific  and  more  fruitful 
character.  The  conception  of  causality  carries  with  it  the  concep- 
tion of  determination  by  law  {Gesetz),  for  the  effect  is  conceived 
as  determined  {gesetzt)  by  the  cause.  Hence  freedom  must  not  be 
regarded  as  lawless  {gesetzlos),  but  simply  as  independent  of 


THE  METAPHYSIC  OF  MORALITY  559 

laws  of  nature.  A free  cause  does  conform  to  unchangeable  laws, 
but  these  laws  are  peculiar  to  itself ; and,  indeed,  apart  from  law 
a free  will  has  no  meaning  whatever.  A necessary  law  of  nature, 
as  we  have  seen,  implies  the  heteronomy  of  efficient  causes;  for 
no  effect  is  possible  at  all,  unless  its  cause  is  itself  determined 
to  activity  by  something  else.  What,  therefore,  can  freedom  pos- 
sibly be  but  autonomy,  that  is,  the  property  of  the  will  to  be  a 
law  to  itself  ? Now,  to  say  that  the  will  in  all  its  actions  is  a law 
to  itself,  is  simply  to  say  that  its  principle  is,  to  act  from  no  other 
maxim  than  that  the  object  of  which  is  itself  as  a universal  law. 
But  this  is  just  the  formula  of  the  categorical  imperative  and  the 
principle  of  morality.  Hence  a free  will  is  the  same  thing  as  a 
will  that  conforms  to  moral  laws. 

If,  then,  we  start  from  the  presupposition  of  freedom  of  the 
will,  we  can  derive  morality  and  the  principle  of  morality  simply 
from  an  analysis  of  the  conception  of  freedom.  Yet  the  princi- 
ple of  morality,  namely,  that  an  absolutely  good  will  is  a will  the 
maxim  of  which  can  always  be  taken  as  itself  a universal  law, 
is  a synthetic  proposition.  For  by  no  possibility  can  we  derive 
this  property  of  the  maxim  from  an  analysis  of  the  conception  of 
an  absolutely  good  will.  The  transition  from  the  conception  of 
freedom  to  the  conception  of  morality  can  be  made  only  if  there 
is  a third  proposition  which  connects  the  other  two  in  a synthetic 
unity.  The  positive  conception  of  freedom  yields  this  third  pro- 
position, and  not  the  conception  of  nature,  in  which  a thing  is 
related  causally  only  to  something  else. 

Freedom  is  a Property  of  all  Rational  Beings 

It  cannot  in  any  way  be  proved  that  the  will  of  man  is  free, 
unless  it  can  be  shown  that  the  will  of  all  rational  beings  is  free. 
For  morality  is  a law  for  us  only  in  so  far  as  we  are  rational  beings, 
and  therefore  it  must  apply  to  all  rational  beings.  But  morality 
is  possible  only  for  a free  being,  and  hence  it  must  be  proved  that 
freedom  also  belongs  to  the  will  of  all  rational  beings.  Now  I say 
that  a being  who  cannot  act  except  under  the  idea  of  freedom, 
must  for  that  very  reason  be  regarded  as  free  so  far  as  his  actions 


IMMANUEL  KANT 


560 

are  concerned.  In  other  words,  even  if  it  cannot  be  proved  by 
speculative  reason  that  his  will  is  free,  all  the  laws  that  are  in- 
separably bound  up  with  freedom  must  be  viewed  by  him  as 
laws  of  his  will.  And  I say,  further,  that  we  must  necessarily 
attribute  to  every  rational  being  that  has  a will  the  idea  of  free- 
dom, because  every  such  being  always  acts  under  that  idea. 
A rational  being  we  must  conceive  as  having  a reason  that  is 
practical,  that  is,  a reason  that  has  causality  with  regard  to  its 
objects.  Now,  it  is  impossible  to  conceive  of  a reason  which 
should  be  consciously  biassed  in  its  judgments  by  some  influence 
from  without,  for  the  subject  would  in  that  case  regard  its  judg- 
ments as  determined,  not  by  reason,  but  by  a natural  impulse. 
Reason  must  therefore  regard  itself  as  the  author  of  its  principles 
of  action,  and  as  independent  of  all  external  influences.  Hence, 
as  practical  reason,  or  as  the  will  of  a rational  being,  it  must 
be  regarded  by  itself  as  free.  The  will  of  a rational  being,  in 
other  words,  can  be  his  own  will  only  if  he  acts  under  the  idea  of 
freedom,  and  therefore  this  idea  must  in  the  practical  sphere  be 
ascribed  to  all  rational  beings. 

The  Interest  connected  with  Moral  Ideas 

We  have  at  last  succeeded  in  reducing  the  true  conception  of 
morality  to  the  idea  of  freedom.  This,  however,  does  not  prove 
that  man  actually  is  free,  but  only  that,  without  presupposing 
freedom,  we  cannot  conceive  of  ourselves  as  rational  beings,  who 
are  conscious  of  causality  with  respect  to  our  actions,  that  is, 
as  endowed  with  will.  We  have  also  found  that  on  the  same 
ground  all  beings  endowed  with  reason  and  will  must  deter- 
mine themselves  to  action  under  the  idea  of  their  freedom. 

From  the  presupposition  of  the  idea  of  freedom  there  also 
followed  the  consciousness  of  a law  of  action,  the  law  that  our 
subjective  principles  of  action,  or  maxims,  must  always  be  of 
such  a character  that  they  have  the  validity  of  objective  or  uni- 
versal principles,  and  can  be  taken  as  universal  laws  imposed 
upon  our  will  by  ourselves.  But  why,  it  may  be  asked,  should  I 
subject  myself  to  this  principle  simply  as  a rational  being,  and 


THE  METAPHYSIC  OF  MORALITY  561 

why,  therefore,  should  all  other  beings  who  are  endowed  with 
reason  come  under  the  same  principle?  Admitting  that  I am 
not  forced  to  do  so  by  interest  — which  indeed  would  make  a 
categorical  imperative  impossible  — yet  I must  take  an  interest 
in  that  principle  and  see  how  I come  to  subject  myself  to  it. 

It  looks  as  if  we  had,  strictly  speaking,  shown  merely  that  in 
the  idea  of  freedom  the  moral  law  must  be  presupposed  in  order 
to  explain  the  principle  of  the  autonomy  of  the  will,  without  being 
able  to  prove  the  reality  and  objectivity  of  the  moral  law  itself. 

It  must  be  frankly  admitted,  that  there  is  here  a sort  of  circle 
from  which  it  seems  impossible  to  escape.  We'  assume  that  as 
efficient  causes  we  are  free,  in  order  to  explain  how  in  the  king- 
dom of  ends  w-e  can  be  under  moral  laws ; and  then  we  think  of 
ourselves  as  subject  to  moral  laws,  because  w-e  have  ascribed  to 
ourselves  freedom  of  will.  Freedom  of  will  and  self-legislation 
of  will  are  both  autonomy,  and,  therefore,  they  are  conceptions 
which  imply  each  other;  but,  for  that  very  reason,  the  one  cannot 
be  employed  to  explain  or  to  account  for  the  other. 

How  IS  A Categorical  Imperative  possible? 

As  an  intelligence,  a rational  being  views  himself  as  a member 
of  the  intelligible  world,  and  it  is  only  as  an  efficient  cause  belong- 
ing to  this  world  that  he  speaks  of  his  own  causality  as  will. 
On  the  other  hand,  he  is  conscious  of  himself  as  also  a part  of  the 
world  of  sense,  and  in  this  connection  his  actions  appear  as  mere 
phenomena  which  that  causality  underlies.  Yet  he  cannot  trace 
back  his  actions  as  phenomena  to  the  causality  of  his  will,  be- 
cause of  that  causality  he  has  no  knowledge ; and  he  is  thus  forced 
to  view  them  as  if  they  were  determined  merely  by  other  phe- 
nomena, that  is,  by  natural  desires  and  inclinations.  Were  a man 
a member  only  of  the  intelligible  world,  all  his  actions  would 
be  in  perfect  agreement  with  the  autonomy  of  the  will ; w^ere  he 
merely  a part  of  the  world  of  sense,  they  would  have  to  be  re- 
garded as  completely  subject  to  the  natural  law  of  desire  and 
inclination,  and  to  the  heteronomy  of  nature.  The  former  would 
rest  upon  the  supreme  principle  of  morality,  the  latter  upon  that 


IMMANUEL  KANT 


562 

of  happiness.  But  it  must  be  observed  that  the  intelligible  world 
is  the  condition  of  the  world  of  sense,  and,  therefore,  of  the  laws 
of  that  world.  And  as  the  will  belongs  altogether  to  the  intelligible 
world,  it  is  the  intelligible  world  that  prescribes  the  laws  which 
the  will  directly  obeys.  As  an  intelligence,  I am  therefore  subject 
to  the  law  of  the  intelligible  world,  that  is,  to  reason,  notwith- 
standing the  fact  that  I belong  on  the  other  side  of  my  nature  to 
the  world  of  sense.  Now,  as  subject  to  reason,  which  in  the  idea 
of  freedom  contains  the  law  of  the  intelligible  world,  I am  con- 
scious of  being  subject  to  the  autonomy  of  the  will.  The  laws 
of  the  intelligible  world  I must  therefore  regard  as  imperatives, 
and  the  actions  conformable  to  this  principle  as  duties. 

The  explanation  of  the  possibility  of  categorical  imperatives, 
then,  is,  that  the  idea  of  freedom  makes  me  a member  of  the 
intelligible  world.  Were  I a member  of  no  other  world,  all  my 
actions  would  as  a matter  of  fact  always  conform  to  the  autonomy 
of  the  will.  But  as  I perceive  myself  to  be  also  a member  of  the 
world  of  sense,  I can  say  only,  that  my  actions  ought  to  conform 
to  the  autonomy  of  the  will.  The  categorical  ought  is  thus  an 
a priori  synthetic  proposition.  To  my  will  as  affected  by  sensuous 
desires,  there  is  added  synthetically  the  idea  of  my  will  as  belong- 
ing to  the  intelligible  world,  and  therefore  as  pure  and  self-deter- 
mining. The  will  as  rational  is  therefore  the  supreme  condition  of 
the  will  as  sensuous.  The  method  of  explanation  here  employed 
is  similar  to  that  by  which  the  categories  were  deduced.  For 
the  a priori  synthetic  propositions,  which  make  all  knowledge  of 
nature  possible,  depend,  as  we  have  seen,  upon  the  addition  to 
perceptions  of  sense  of  the  pure  conceptions  of  understanding, 
which,  in  themselves,  are  nothing  but  the  form  of  law  in  general. 

Limits  of  Practical  Philosophy 

Freedom  is  only  an  idea  of  reason,  and  therefore  its  objective 
reality  is  doubtful.  Thus  there  arises  a dialectic  of  practical 
reason.  The  freedom  ascribed  to  the  will  seems  to  stand  in 
contradiction  with  the  necessity  of  nature.  It  is,  therefore,  incum- 
bent upon  speculative  philosophy  at  least  to  show  that  we  think 


THE  METAPHYSIC  OF  MORALITY  563 

of  man  in  one  sense  and  relation  when  we  call  him  free,  and  in 
another  sense  and  relation  when  we  view  him  as  a part  of  nature, 
and  as  subject  to  its  laws.  But  this  duty  is  incumbent  upon  specu- 
lative philosophy  only  in  so  far  as  it  has  to  clear  the  way  for 
practical  philosophy. 

In  thinking  Itself  into  the  intelligible  world,  practical  reason 
does  not  transcend  its  proper  limits,  as  it  would  do  if  it  tried  to 
know  itself  directly  by  means  of  perception.  In  so  thinking  itself, 
reason  merely  conceives  of  itself  negatively  as  not  belonging  to  the 
world  of  sense,  without  giving  any  laws  to  itself  in  determination 
of  the  will.  There  is  but  a single  point  in  which  it  is  positive, 
namely,  in  the  thought  that  freedom,  though  it  is  a negative 
determination,  is  yet  bound  up  with  a positive  faculty,  and, 
indeed,  with  a causality  of  reason  which  is  called  will.  In  other 
words,  will  is  the  faculty  of  so  acting  that  the  principle  of  action 
should  conform  to  the  essential  nature  of  a rational  motive,  that 
is,  to  the  condition  that  the  maxim  of  action  should  have  the  uni- 
versal validity  of  a law.  Were  reason,  however,  to  derive  an  object 
of  will,  that  is,  a motive,  from  the  intelligible  world,  it  would  tran- 
scend its  proper  limits,  and  would  make  a pretence  of  knowing 
something  of  which  it  knew  nothing.  The  conception  of  an 
intelligible  world  is  therefore  merely  a point  of  view  beyond  the 
world  of  sense,  at  which  reason  sees  itself  compelled  to  take  its 
stand  in  order  to  think  itself  as  practical.  This  conception  would 
not  be  possible  at  all  if  the  sensuous  desires  were  sufficient  to 
determine  the  action  of  man.  It  is  necessary,  because  otherwise 
man  would  not  be  conscious  of  himself  as  an  intelligence,  and, 
therefore,  not  as  a rational  cause  acting  through  reason  or  oper- 
ating freely.  This  thought  undoubtedly  involves  the  idea  of  an 
order  and  a system  of  laws  other  than  the  order  and  laws  of 
nature,  which  concern  only  the  world  of  sense.  Hence  it  makes 
necessary  the  conception  of  an  intelligible  world,  a world  which 
comprehends  the  totality  of  rational  beings  as  things  in  them- 
selves. Yet  it  in  no  way  entitles  us  to  think  of  that  world  other- 
wise than  in  its  formal  condition,  that  is,  to  conceive  of  the 
maxims  of  the  will  as  conformable  to  universal  laws. 

Reason  would,  therefore,  completely  transcend  its  proper  limits. 


IMMANUEL  KANT 


564 

if  it  should  undertake  to  explain  how  pure  reason  can  be  practical, 
or,  what  is  the  same  thing,  to  explain  how  freedom  is  possible. 

We  can  explain  nothing  but  that  which  we  can  reduce  to  laws, 
the  object  of  which  can  be  presented  in  a possible  experience. 
Freedom,  however,  is  a mere  idea,  the  objective  reality  of  which 
can  in  no  way  be  presented  in  accordance  with  laws  of  nature, 
and,  therefore,  not  in  any  possible  experience.  It  has  merely 
the  necessity  of  a presupposition  of  reason,  made  by  a being  who 
believes  himself  to  be  conscious  of  a will,  that  is,  of  a faculty 
distinct  from  mere  desire.  The  most  that  we  can  do  is  to  defend 
freedom  by  removing  the  objections  of  those  who  claim  to  have 
a deeper  insight  into  the  nature  of  things  than  we  can  pretend 
to  have,  and  who,  therefore,  declare  that  freedom  is  impossible. 
It  would  no  doubt  be  a contradiction  to  say  that  in  its  causality 
the  will  is  entirely  separated  from  all  the  laws  of  the  sensible 
world.  But  the  contradiction  disappears,  if  we  say,  that  behind 
phenomena  there  are  things  in  themselves,  which,  though  they 
are  hidden  from  us,  are  the  condition  of  phenomena;  and  that  the 
laws  of  action  of  things  in  themselves  naturally  are  not  the  same 
as  the  laws  under  which  their  phenomenal  manifestations  stand. 

While,  therefore,  it  is  true  that  we  cannot  comprehend  the 
practical  unconditioned  necessity  of  the  moral  imperative,  it  is 
also  true  that  we  can  comprehend  its  incomprehensibility ; and 
this  is  all  that  can  fairly  be  demanded  of  a philosophy  which 
seeks  to  reach  the  principles  which  determine  the  limits  of  human 


reason. 


JOHANN  GOTTLIEB  FICHTE 

( 1762-1814 ) 

THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 

Translated  from  the  German  by 
A.  E.  KROEGER 

DEDUCTION  OF  THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  MORALITY 

Preliminary 

It  is  asserted  that  there  manifests  itself  in  the  soul  of  man  an  im- 
pulsion to  do  certain  things  utterly  independent  of  external  pur- 
poses, merely  for  the  sake  of  doing  them ; and,  on  the  other  hand, 
to  leave  undone  other  things  equally  independent  of  external 
purposes,  and  merely  for  the  sake  of  leaving  them  undone.  The 
condition  of  man,  in  so  far  as  such  an  impulsion  is  necessarily  to 
manifest  itself  within  him,  as  sure  as  he  is  a rational  being,  is 
called  his  moral  nature. 

The  power  of  cognition,  which  belongs  to  man,  may  relate  in 
a twofold  manner  to  this,  his  moral  nature. 

Firstly.  When  that  impulsion  is  discovered  by  him  in  his  self- 
observation as  a fact  — and  it  certainly  is  assumed  that  each 
rational  being  will  thus  discover  it,  if  he  but  closely  observes  him- 
self; man  may  simply  accept  it  as  such  fact,  may  rest  content  to 
have  discovered  that  it  is  thus,  without  inquiring  in  what  manner 
and  from  what  grounds  it  becomes  thus.  Perhaps  he  may  even 
freely  resolve,  from  inclination,  to  place  unconditioned  faith  in  the 
requirements  of  that  impulsion,  and  actually  to  think,  as  his 
highest  destination,  what  that  impulsion  represents  to  him  as 
such;  nay,  perhaps  even  to  act  constantly  in  conformity  with 
this  faith.  Thus  there  arises  within  him  the  common,  or  ordinary, 
knowledge,  as  well  of  his  moral  nature  in  general,  as  also  — if  he 

* From  J.  G.  Fichte’s  Das  System  der  Sittenlehre  tiach  den  Pruicipien  der 
Wissenschaftslehre,  Jena  and  Leipzig,  1798.  Reprinted  from  J.  G.  Fichte’s  The 
Science  of  Ethics  as  based  on  the  Science  of  Knowledge,  London,  Kegan  Paul, 
Trench,  Triibner  & Co.,  1897. 


566  JOHANN  GOTTLIEB  FICHTE 

carefully  attends  to  the  dictates  of  his  conscience  in  the  particular 
phases  of  his  life  — of  his  particular  duties ; which  common  know- 
ledge is  possible  from  the  standpoint  of  ordinary  consciousness, 
and  is  sufficient  for  the  generation  of  moral  sentiments  and  a 
moral  behaviour. 

Secondly.  But  man  may  also  not  rest  content  with  the  imme- 
diate perception;  he  may  desire  to  know  the  grounds  of  what  he 
has  thus  discovered;  he  may  not  be  content  with  a partial,  but 
desire  a genetical  knowledge;  or  he  may  desire  to  know  not  only 
that  such  an  impulsion  exists  within  him,  but  likewise  how  it 
arises  within  him.  If  he  obtains  this  knowledge,  it  will  be  a specu- 
lative knowledge,  and  to  attain  it  he  must  rise  from  the  standpoint 
of  ordinary  consciousness  to  a higher  standpoint. 

Now,  how  is  this  problem  to  be  solved,  or  how  are  the  grounds 
of  the  moral  nature  of  man  to  be  discovered?  The  only  matter 
which  excludes  all  asking  for  a higher  ground  is  this;  that  we 
are  we,  or,  in  other  words,  our  Egoness,  or  Rationality,  which 
latter  word,  however,  is  not  nearly  as  expressively  correct  as  the 
former.  Everything  else,  whether  it  be  withm  us,  like  the  im- 
pulsion above  mentioned,  or  for  us,  like  the  external  world 
which  we  assume,  is  only  thus  within  or  for  us  because  we  are  it, 
as  can  indeed  be  easily  proven  in  general,  whereas  the  particular 
insight  into  the  manner  in  which  something  connects  within,  or 
for  us,  that  rationality,  is  precisely  the  speculative  and  scientific 
knowledge  of  the  grounds  of  this  something  whereof  we  speak. 
The  development  of  these  grounds  being  deduced,  as  it  is,  from 
the  highest  and  absolute  principle  of  Egoness,  and  shown  to  be  a 
necessary  result  thereof,  is  a deduction.  It  is  therefore  our  present 
task  to  furnish  a deduction  of  the  moral  nature  or  principle  in 
man. 

Instead  of  enumerating  at  length  the  advantages  of  such  a 
deduction,  it  is  sufficient  to  remark  that  only  through  it  does  a 
science  of  morality  arise.  And  science  — no  matter  whereof  — is 
end  in  itself. 

In  relation  to  a scientific  complete  philosophy,  the  present  sci- 
ence of  morality  is  connected  with  the  science  of  knowledge 
through  the  present  deduction.  This  deduction  is  derived  from 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 


567 

principles  of  the  latter  science,  and  shows  how  the  particular  sci- 
ence of  morality  proceeds  from  the  general  science  of  knowledge, 
and  thus  becomes  a separate  philosophical  science. 

If,  as  is  maintained,  the  morality  of  our  nature  follows  from 
our  rationality,  in  accordance  with  necessary  laws,  the  mentioned 
impulsion  is  itself  primary  and  immediate  for  perception;  that  is 
to  say,  it  will  manifest  itself  without  our  interference,  and  we  can- 
not change  this,  its  manifestation,  through  our  freedom  in  any 
manner  whatsoever.  In  generating  through  a deduction  an  in- 
sight into  the  grounds  thereof,  we  do  not  in  any  manner  receive 
the  power  to  change  anything  in  it,  since  only  our  cognition,  and 
not  our  power,  extends  so  far,  and  since  the  whole  relation  is 
necessarily  our  own  unchangeable  nature  itself. 

Hence  the  deduction  generates  nothing  else,  and  must  not  be 
expected  to  generate  anything  else  than  simply  theoretical  cogni- 
tion. Just  as  we  do  not  place  things  differently  in  time  and  space 
after  we  have  obtained  the  insight  into  the  grounds  of  our  doing 
so  at  all,  than  we  did  previously,  so  also  morality  does  not  mani- 
fest itself  differently  in  man  before  and  after  its  deduction.  Nor 
is  the  science  of  morality  a science  of  wisdom  — as,  indeed,  were 
impossible,  since  wisdom  is  rather  an  art  than  a science  — but 
morality  is  like  all  philosophy  — a science  of  knowledge.  In  its 
peculiar  characteristic,  however,  it  is  the  theory  of  the  conscious- 
ness of  our  moral  nature  in  general,  and  of  our  determined  du- 
ties in  particular. 


CHAPTER  I 

Problem.  To  think  myself  as  self,  that  is  to  say,  apart  from 
all  which  is  not  myself. 

A.  Solution.  I find  myself,  as  self,  only  as  willing. 

Explanation 

First.  What  does  this  mean:  I find  myself? 

The  easiest  manner  to  guide  any  one  to  the  correct  thinking 
and  understanding  of  the  conception  I is  as  follows : — Think,  I 
would  say  to  him,  any  object,  for  instance,  this  wall,  this  desk. 


568  JOHANN  GOTTLIEB  FICHTE 

You  doubtless  assume  a thinking,  which  thinks  in  this  thought, 
and  this  thinking  you  are  yourself.  You  are  Immediately  con- 
scious of  your  thinking  in  this,  your  thinking.  But  the  object 
which  you  think  is  not  to  be  the  thinking  itself,  is  not  to  be 
identical  with  it,  but  is  to  be  an  opposite  somewhat,  of  which 
oppositeness  you  are  also  immediately  conscious  in  this  your 
thinking. 

Now  think  again  — not  a wall,  however,  but  yourself.  As  sure 
as  you  do  this,  you  posit  the  thinking  and  the  thought,  not  as  op- 
posites, as  you  did  in  the  previous  case,  not  as  a twofold,  but  as 
one  and  the  same;  and  you  are  immediately  conscious  of  it  in  this 
manner.  You  therefore  think  the  conception  Ego  or  I,  when  the 
thinking  and  the  thought  are  assumed  in  thinking  as  one  and 
the  same,  and  vice  versa,  whatever  arises  in  such  a thinking  is 
the  conception  of  the  Ego. 

Applying  this  to  our  case,  I find  myself  would  signify ; I assume 
that  which  I find  to  be  the  same  as  that  which  finds;  the  finding 
and  the  found  are  to  be  the  same. 

Second.  What  does  this  mean;  I find  myself? 

The  found  is  here  opposed  to  that  which  is  produced  through 
our  free  activity;  and  more  particularly  the  finding  is  here  deter- 
mined as  that  which  finds;  i.  e.,  in  so  far  as  I find,  I am  conscious 
of  no  other  activity  than  that  of  a mere  taking  hold  of  something ; 
that  which  I take  hold  of  being  neither  produced  nor  in  any  man- 
ner modified  by  my  taking  hold  of  it.  It  is  to  be,  and  to  be  pre- 
cisely as  it  is,  independently  of  my  taking  hold  of  it.  It  was  with- 
out having  been  taken  hold  of,  and  would  have  remained  as  it  was 
although  I had  not  taken  hold  of  it.  My  taking  hold  of  it  was  alto- 
gether accidental  for  it,  and  did  not  change  it  in  the  least.  Thus, 
at  least,  do  I appear  to  myself  in  finding,  and  at  present  we  are 
merely  concerned  in  establishing  the  facts  of  consciousness,  but 
not  in  showing  how  it  may  be  in  truth,  i.  e.,  from  the  highest  stand- 
point of  speculation.  In  short,  something  is  given  to  the  perceiv- 
ing subject ; he  is  to  be  purely  passive,  and  something  is  to  force 
itself  upon  him,  which,  in  our  case,  he  is  to  recognize  as  himself. 

Third.  What  does  this  signify : I find  myself  as  willing,  and 
can  find  myself  only  as  willing  ? 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS  569 

What  willing  means  is  presupposed  as  well  known.  This  con- 
ception is  capable  of  no  real  explanation,  nor  does  it  need  any. 
Each  one  must  become  conscious  in  himself,  through  intellectual 
contemplation,  as  to  what  it  signifies,  and  will  doubtless  be  able 
to  do  so  without  any  difficulty.  The  fact  which  the  above  words 
suggest  is  as  follows:  — I become  conscious  of  a willing.  I add 
in  thinking  to  this  willing  something  which  exists  independently 
of  my  consciousness,  and  which  I assert  to  be  the  willing  subject 
in  this  will,  or  to  be  that  which  is  to  have  this  will,  in  which  this 
will  is  to  be.  How  we  come  to  add  such  a substance  in  think- 
ing, and  what  are  the  grounds  of  it,  we  do  not  discuss  here.  We 
merely  assert  here  that  it  does  occur,  and  of  this  each  one  must 
convince  himself  by  self-observation.  I become  conscious  of,  or 
perceive,  this  will.  But  I also  become  conscious  now  of  this  con- 
sciousness, or  of  this  perception,  and  relate  it  also  to  a substance; 
a*nd  this  conscious  substance  is  for  me  the  same  which  has  the 
will.  Hence  I find  the  willing  subject  to  be  myself,  or  I find  my- 
self willing. 

I find  myself  only  as  willing.  I have  not  an  immediate  percep- 
tion of  substance.  Substance  is,  indeed,  no  object  of  perception 
at  all,  but  is  merely  that  which  is  added  through  thinking  to  an 
object  of  perception.  I can  immediately  perceive  only  something, 
which  is  to  be  a manifestation  of  the  substance.  Now  there  are 
only  two  manifestations  which  can  be  immediately  ascribed  to 
that  substance:  Thinking,  in  the  widest  significance  of  the  word, 
and  willing.  The  former  is  originally  and  immediately  for  itself 
not  at  all  an  object  of  a special  new  consciousness,  but  is  con- 
sciousness itself.  Only  in  so  far  as  it  is  related  and  opposed  to 
another  objective  does  itself  become  objective  in  this  opposition. 
Hence,  as  original  objective  manifestation  of  that  substance  there 
remains  only  the  latter,  the  willing ; and  this,  indeed,  remains 
always  only  objective,  is  never  itself  a thinking,  but  always  only 
the  thought  manifestation  of  self-activity.  In  short,  the  manifes- 
tation which  alone  I originally  ascribe  to  myself  is  the  willing, 
and  I become  conscious  of  myself  only  on  condition  of  becoming 
conscious  of  myself  as  a willing. 


570 


JOHANN  GOTTLIEB  FICHTE 


Proof 

Having  thus  explained  the  above  proposition,  we  now  proceed 
to  establish  its  proof.  This  proof  is  based; 

First.  On  the  conception  of  the  Ego.  — The  significance  of 
this  conception  has  just  been  established  through  its  genesis. 
That  each  one  does  truly  proceed  in  the  described  manner  when 
endeavouring  to  think  his  self;  and  that,  on  the  other  hand,  such 
a proceeding  gives  rise  to  no  other  thought  than  that  of  his  self; 
this  each  one  must  find  in  himself,  and  it  cannot  be  specially 
proved  to  him. 

Second.  On  the  necessity  of  the  original  oppositedness  of  an 
objective  and  a subjective  in  consciousness.  — In  all  thinking  there 
is  a thought  which  is  not  that  thinking  itself:  in  all  conscious- 
ness there  is  something  of  which  we  are  conscious,  which  is  not 
that  consciousness  itself.  The  truth  of  this  assertion  each  one  also 
must  find  in  the  self-contemplation  of  his  procedure,  and  it  can- 
not be  proven  to  him  from  conceptions.  It  is  true  that  afterwards 
we  become  conscious  of  our  thinking  as  such,  i.  e.,  as  a doing, 
and  thereupon  make  it  an  object  of  our  thinking;  and  the  ease 
and  natural  tendency  to  do  this  is  what  constitutes  philosophical 
genius,  without  which  no  one  will  grasp  the  significance  of  tran- 
scendental philosophy.  But  even  this  is  .only  possible  if  we  im- 
perceptibly subsume  under  that  thinking  as  merely  thought,  for 
only  on  this  condition  do  we  really  think  a thinking. 

Third.  On  the  character  of  the  original  objective,  that  it  is  to  be 
something  existing  independently  of  thinking,  hence  something 
actual  and  in  and  through  itself  existing.  This  also  each  one  must 
convince  himself  of  through  internal  contemplation,  for  although 
this  relation  of  the  objective  to  the  subjective  is  developed  in  a 
science  of  knowledge,  it  is  by  no  means  proven  from  its  concep- 
tion, nor  can  it  be  so  proven,  since  the  latter  only  becomes  possible 
through  that  self-contemplation. 

The  proof  may  be  stated  thus:  It  is  the  character  of  the  Ego, 
that  the  acting  and  that  which  is  acted  upon  be  one  and  the  same. 
This  is  the  case  when  the  Ego  is  thought.  Only  in  so  far  as  the 
thought  is  the  same  as  the  thinking  do  I hold  the  thought  to  be 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 


571 


myself.  But  in  the  present  case  we  are  to  have  nothing  to  do  with 
thinking.  It  is  true  that,  since  the  thinking  and  the  thought  are 
one,  I am  myself  the  thinking;  but  our  present  proposition  asserts 
that  the  thought,  the  objective,  is  to  be  Ego  simply  by  itself  and 
independently  of  thinking,  and  is  to  be  recognized  in  this  manner 
as  Ego,  for  our  proposition  asserts  that  it  is  found  as  Ego. 

Hence,  in  the  thought  as  such,  i.  e.,  in  so  far  as  it  is  to  be  merely 
the  objective  and  never  the  subjective,  there  must  be  an  identity 
of  the  acting  and  that  which  is  acted  upon;  which,  since  the 
thought  is  to  be  merely  an  object,  is  an  actual  acting  upon  itself 
(not  a mere  contemplating  of  itself  like  the  ideal  activity),  or 
in  other  words,  an  actual  self-determining  of  itself  through  itself. 
But  such  an  acting  we  call  willing,  and  willing  we  only  think  as 
such  an  acting.  Hence  the  proposition,  to  find  myself,  is  abso- 
lutely identical  with  the  proposition,  to  find  myself  willing.  Only 
in  so  far  as  I find  myself  willing  do  I find  myself,  and  in  so  far  as 
I find  myself  I necessarily  find  myself  willing. 

Remark 

It  is  clear  that  the  proposition  here  proved,  “When  I find  my- 
self I necessarily  find  myself  willing,”  in  order  to  be  productive 
of  categorical  results  must  be  preceded  by  another  one,  to  wit : 
“I  necessarily  find  myself,  become  necessarily  conscious  of  my- 
self.” This  self-consciousness  is  proved,  not  as  fact,  for  as  such  it 
is  immediate,  but  in  its  connection  with  all  other  consciousness, 
and  as  reciprocally  determining  it  in  a fundamental  science  of 
knowledge;  and  hence  our  present  proposition,  together  with  all 
the  results  which  may  flow  from  it,  will  itself  become  a necessary 
result  as  well  as  a condition  of  self-consciousness.  It  may  be  said 
of  this  proposition,  and  these  its  future  results,  so  certain  as  I am 
I,  or  as  I am  self-conscious,  so  certain  does  this  or  that  necessarily 
exist  in  and  for  me.  And  thus  it  appears  how  our  present  science 
of  morality  is  based  on  the  common  ground  of  all  philosophy. 

B.  Solution  Continued.  But  willing  itself  is  thinkable  only 
under  the  presupposition  of  a something  distinct  from  the  Ego. 


572 


JOHANN  GOTTLIEB  FICHTE 


Proof 

It  is  true  that  in  philosophical  abstraction  we  may  speak  of  a 
willing  in  general,  which  on  that  very  account  is  unddermined; 
but  all  truly  perceivable  willing,  such  as  we  speak  of  here,  is  neces- 
sarily a determined  willing,  in  which  something  is  willed.  To  will 
something  is  to  require  that  a determined  object,  which  in  the 
willing  of  it  is  only  thought  as  possible  — for  if  it  were  thought  as 
actual  the  act  would  not  be  a willing,  but  a perceiving  — shall 
become  actual  object  of  a perception.  This  requirement,  there- 
fore, clearly  refers  us  to  the  external.  Hence,  all  willing  involves 
the  postulate  of  an  external  object,  and  the  conception  of  willing 
involves  something  which  is  not  ourself. 

But  more  than  this.  The  possibility  of  postulating  in  the  will- 
ing an  external  object  presupposes  already  within  us  the  concep- 
tion of  an  externality  in  general,  and  this  conception  is  only 
possible  through  experience.  But  this  experience  likewise  is  a 
relation  of  ourself  to  something  outside  of  us.  In  other  words, 
that  which  I will  is  never  anything  else  than  a modification  of  an 
object  w^hich  is  to  be  actually  existing  outside  of  me.  All  my  will- 
ing is  therefore  conditioned  by  the  perception  of  an  external  object, 
and  in  willing  I do  not  perceive  myself  as  I am  in  and  for  myself, 
but  merely  as  I may  become  in  a certain  relation  to  external 
things. 


C.  Solution  Concluded.  Hence,  in  order  to  find  my  true 
essence,  I must  abstract  from  this  foreign  characteristic  in  willing. 
That  which  remains  after  this  abstraction  is  my  pure  being. 

Explanation 

This  proposition  is  the  immediate  result  of  the  previous  pro- 
positions. Hence,  we  have  only  to  investigate  what  that  is  which 
remains  after  having  undertaken  the  required  abstraction.  Will- 
ing, as  such,  is  a first;  is  absolutely  grounded  in  itself,  and  in 
nothing  external  w-hatsoever.  Let  us  make  clear  this  conception, 
upon  which  all  depends  here,  and  which  can  only  be  negatively 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 


573 


comprehended  and  explained  — since  a first  signifies  merely  that 
which  is  derived  from  nothing  else,  and  absolutely  grounded  in 
itself  signifies  merely  not  grounded  in  anything  else. 

Whatsoever  is  dependent,  conditioned,  or  grounded  through 
another  maybe  cognized,  in  so  far  as  it  is  thus,  mediately,  namely, 
from  a cognition  of  that  upon  which  it  depends,  or  in  which  it  is 
grounded.  Thus,  for  instance,  if  a ball  is  set  in  motion,  I can  cer- 
tainly have  immediate  perception  of  its  movement,  of  the  point 
from  which  it  starts,  the  point  where  it  rests,  and  the  celerity  with 
which  it  moves;  but  I could  likewise  obtain  a knowledge  of  all 
this  if  I were  merely  made  acquainted  with  the  conditions  under 
which  the  ball  rests,  and  the  force  of  the  stroke  with  which  it  is  set 
in  motion,  although  I had  no  immediate  perception  of  the  motion 
whatever.  Hence  the  motion  of  the  ball  is  considered  as  some- 
thing dependent,  or  conditioned  — as  not  primary.  An  absolute 
first,  and  in  itself  grounded  somewhat,  must  therefore  be  of  such 
a character  that  it  cannot  be  cognized  mediately  through  another, 
but  only  immediately  through  itself.  It  is  what  it  is  because  it 
is  so. 

In  so  far,  therefore,  as  the  willing  is  absolute  and  primary,  it 
cannot  be  explained  in  any  manner  from  something  outside  of  the 
Ego,,  but  only  from  the  Ego  itself.  This  absoluteness  it  is,  there- 
fore, which  remains  when  we  abstract  from  all  foreign  elements. 

Remark 

That  willing,  in  the  significance  here  attached  to  it,  does  ap- 
pear as  absolute  is  a fact  of  consciousness  which  each  one  will  find 
in  himself,  and  which  cannot  be  externally  proved  to  anyone  who 
has  not  this  immediate  knowledge  of  it  as  a fact.  Nevertheless,  it 
is  quite  possible  that  this  appearance  of  it  as  absolute  may  be  fur- 
ther explained  and  deduced,  whereby  the  appearing  absoluteness 
will  itself  be  further  explained  and  cease  to  be  absoluteness,  the 
appearance  thereof  changing  into  mere  semblance.  In  a similar 
manner  it  also  appears  to  us,  as  an  immediate  fact  of  conscious- 
ness, that  certain  things  exist  independently  of  us  in  time  and 
space,  and  yet  transcendental  philosophy  further  explains  and 


574  JOHANN  GOTTLIEB  FICHTE 

deduces  this  appearance;  although  it  does  not  change  that  ap- 
pearance into  a mere  semblance,  for  reasons  not  here  to  be  stated. 
It  is  true  no  one  will  be  able  to  furnish  such  an  explanation  of 
willing.  Nevertheless,  if  any  one  should  say  that  willing  has  an 
external  — and  to  us  incomprehensible  — ground,  there  can  be 
no  theoretical  rational  ground  objected  against  the  assertion,  al- 
though it  likewise  can  also  prefer  no  ground  in  its  favour.  The 
truth  is  that  when  we  resolve  to  consider  this  appearance  as  no 
further  explicable,  or,  rather,  as  absolutely  inexplicable  — that 
is  to  say,  as  truth,  and  as  our  only  truth,  according  to  which  all 
other  truth  must  be  judged  and  accepted;  and  upon  this  resolve 
our  whole  philosophy  is  erected.  In  that  case,  we  make  this  re- 
solve not  from  any  theoretical  insight,  but  in  consequence  of  a 
practical  interest.  I will  be  independent ; hence  I resolve  to  con- 
sider myself  independent.  Such  a resolve  is  called  Faith.  Hence 
our  philosophy  starts  from  a faith,  and  knows  it.  Dogmatism, 
which,  logically  carried  out,  makes  the  same  assertion,  starts  also 
from  a faith  (in  the  thing  in  itself),  but  generally  does  not  know  it. 
In  our  philosophy  each  one  makes  himself  the  absolute  starting- 
point,  or  basis,  of  his  philosophy;  hence  our  system  appears  as 
without  a basis  to  all  those  who  are  incapable  of  doing  so.  But 
we  can  also  assure  all  these,  in  advance,  that  they  will  never. find 
a basis  elsewhere,  unless  they  are  satisfied  with  this.  It  is  neces- 
sary that  our  philosophy  should  say  this  openly,  so  that  it  may  no 
longer  be  called  upon  to  demonstrate  externally  to  men  what  each 
one  must  create  within  himself. 

How  do  we  think  this  absoluteness  in  willing? 

In  order  to  assist  the  reader  at  the  very  beginning  in  obtaining 
some  insight  into  this  conception  (which  is  probably,  in  the  ab- 
stractness it  has  received  here,  the  most  difficult  of  all  conceptions 
in  philosophy,  although  it  will  doubtless  receive  the  highest 
clearness  in  the  progress  of  our  present  science,  the  whole  object 
of  which  is  merely  to  further  determine  this  conception),  we 
make  use  of  an 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 


575 


Illustration 

Let  the  reader  imagine  a steel  spring,  bent  together.  There  is 
doubtless  in  the  spring  a tendency  to  repel  the  pressure,  hence  a 
tendency  outwards.  Such  a spring  is  the  picture  of  an  actual  will- 
ing, as  the  state  or  condition  of  a rational  being;  but  of  it  I do  not 
speak  here.  Let  me  now  ask  what  is  the  first  ground  (not  condi- 
tion) of  this  tendency,  as  a real  and  determined  manifestation  of 
the  spring  ? Doubtless  an  inner  action  of  the  spring  upon  itself,  a 
self-determination.  For  no  one  surely  will  say  that  the  outward 
force  which  presses  the  spring  is  the  ground  of  the  spring’s  react- 
ing against  it.  This  self-determining  is  the  same  as  the  mere  act 
of  willing  in  the  rational  being.  Both  together  would  produce  in 
the  spring,  if  it  could  contemplate  itself,  the  consciousness  of  a 
will  to  repel  the  pressing  force.  But  all  these  moments  are  possible 
only  on  condition  that  such  an  external  pressure  is  actually  exer- 
cised upon  the  spring.  In  the  same  way  the  rational  being  cannot 
determine  itself  to  an  actual  willing,  unless  it  stands  in  reciprocal 
relation  with  something  external  (for  as  such  the  rational  being 
appears  to  itself). 

But  this  is  also  to  be  abstracted  from,  and  hence  we  do  not 
speak  here  of  this  moment  any  more  than  of  the  first-mentioned 
one.  Now  if  we  abstract  from  the  external  pressure  altogether, 
does  there  yet  remain  anything  whereby  we  think  the  steel  spring 
as  such,  and  what  is  this  remainder?  Evidently  that,  by  which  I 
judge  the  steel  spring  to  have  a tendency  to  repel  any  outside  pres- 
sure as  soon  as  it  occurs ; hence  the  own  inner  tendency  thereof  to 
determine  itself  to  react,  or  the  real  essence  of  elasticity  as  the  final 
and  no  further  explicab’e  ground  of  a’.l  the  appearances  of  the 
spring,  whenever  the  conditions  of  its  manifestation  are  given. 
(The  very  essential  distinction  between  this  original  tendency  in 
the  steel  spring,  and  the  same  in  the  rational  being,  will  appear  in 
the  following  investigations.) 

In  the  same  manner  in  which  we  removed  all  foreign  elements 
from  the  conception  of  elasticity  in  the  steel  spring,  we  now  pro- 
ceed to  remove  all  foreign  elements  in  the  Ego  comprehended 


576  JOHANN  GOTTLIEB  FICHTE 

through  its  willing,  and  thus  to  arrive  at  a comprehension  of  its 
pure  absoluteness. 

So  far  as  the  form  of  this  problem  is  concerned,  it  is  a problem 
to  think  the  Ego  in  the  required  abstraction  as  a permanent,  and 
hence  that,  through  which  it  is  to  be  comprehended  and  char- 
acterized in  this  thinking,  must  be  an  essential  and  permanent. 
Its  manifestations  and  appearances  can  change,  because  the 
conditions  under  which  it  manifests  itself  change;  but  that 
which  manifests  itself  under  all  these  conditions  remains  always 
the  same. 

So  far  as  the  content  of  the  problem  is  concerned,  that  which  is 
to  be  thought  is  to  be  the  ground  of  an  absolute  willing.  (All  will- 
ing is  absolute.)  What,  then,  is  it?  Each  one  must  have  truly 
thought,  together  with  us,  that  which  we  required  him  to  think ; 
must  have  undertaken,  together  with  us,  the  prescribed  abstrac- 
tions; and  must  now  observe  himself  internally,  and  see  what  it  is 
that  remains,  what  it  is  that  he  still  thinks,  after  having  removed 
all  those  foreign  elements.  Only  thus  can  the  required  knowledge 
be  infused  into  him.  A name  cannot  make  it  clear,  for  the  whole 
conception  has  never  been  thought  before,  much  less  named.  But 
to  give  it  a name,  we  will  call  it,  absolute  tendency  to  the  absolute ; 
absolute  undeterminability  through  anything  not  itself;  tendency 
absolutely  to  determine  itself  without  any  external  persuasion.  It 
is  not  only  a mere  po%ver,  or  faculty,  for  a faculty  is  not  actual,  but 
is  merely  that  which  we  think  in  advance  of  our  actuality,  in  order 
to  be  able  to  receive  it  in  a series  of  our  thinking;  and  that  which 
we  have  to  think  here  is  to  be  something  actual,  is  to  be  that  which 
constitutes  the  essence  of  the  Ego.  And  yet  this  conception  of  a 
faculty  is  also  involved  in  it.  When  related  to  the  actual  mani- 
festation, which  is  only  possible  on  condition  of  a given  object,  it 
is  in  this  relation  the  faculty  or  power  of  such  manifestation. 
Neither  is  it  an  impulse,  as  one  might  call  the  ground  of  the  elas- 
ticity in  the  steel  spring ; for  an  impulse  operates  necessarily  when 
the  conditions  of  its  operating  are  given,  and  operates  in  a ma- 
terially determined  manner.  But  concerning  the  Ego,  we  know 
as  yet  nothing  in  relation  to  this  point,  and  are  not  allowed  to 
make  hasty  judgments  in  advance  of  the  investigation. 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 


577 


Result 

The  essential  character  of  the  Ego,  through  which  it  distin- 
guishes itself  from  all  that  is  outside  of  it,  consists  in  its  tendency 
to  self-activity  for  the  sake  of  self-activity ; and  it  is  this  tendency 
which  is  thought,  when  the  Ego  is  thought  in  and  for  itself  without 
relation  to  anything  external. 

Remark 

It  must  be  remembered  that  the  Ego  is  here  considered  only 
as  object,  but  not  as  Ego  in  general.  In  the  latter  case,  our  above 
result  would  be  utterly  false. 


CHAPTER  II 

We  have  just  shown  what  the  Ego  is,  in  and  for  itself;  or,  to 
express  it  more  carefully,  how  the  Ego  must  necessarily  be 
thought,  if  it  is  thought  solely  as  object. 

But  the  Ego  is  something  only  in  so  far  as  it  posits  itself  (con- 
templates and  thinks  itself)  as  such,  and  the  Ego  is  nothing  so  far 
as  it  does  not  posit  itself.  This  is  a proposition  taken  from  and 
proved  in  the  science  of  knowledge,  and  which  v-e  need  therefore 
only  explain  here  in  a few  words. 

A thing,  and  the  utter  opposite  of  a thing,  the  Ego,  or  a rational 
being,  are  distinguished  by  this,  that  the  thing  merely  is,  without 
knowing  of  its  being  in  the  least,  whereas  in  the  Ego,  being  and 
consciousness  join  together;  the  being  of  the  Ego  not  being 
without  self-consciousness  of  the  Ego,  and  vice  versa,  no  self- 
consciousness  of  the  Ego  without  a being  of  that  whereof  it  be- 
comes conscious.  All  being  relates  to  a consciousness,  and  even 
the  existence  of  a thing  cannot  be  thought  without  adding  in. 
thinking  an  intelligence  which  knows  of  this  existence.  But  in  the 
case  of  the  thing  this  knowing  is  not  posited  in  the  thing,  which  is, 
but  in  an  external  intelligence ; whereas  the  knowing  of  the  being 
of  the  Ego  is  posited  in  the  same  substance,  which  is;  and  only  in 


578  JOHANN  GOTTLIEB  FICHTE 

so  far  as  this  immediate  connection  of  consciousness  and  being  is 
posited  can  it  be  said  the  Ego  is  this  or  that. 

Applying  this  to  the  present  case,  it  follows  that  the  Ego  must 
know  of  that  which  we  have  established  as  the  essence  of  the  Ego, 
as  sure  as  that  is  its  essence.  Here  there  is  necessarily  a conscious- 
ness of  the  described  absolute  tendency.  It  may  be  of  advantage, 
not  merely  to  state  this  result  generally,  but  to  enter  upon  a par- 
ticular description  of  this  consciousness.  We  now  proceed  to 
undertake  this  task. 

Problem.  To  become  definitely  conscious  of  the  conscious- 
ness of  our  original  being. 

Explanatory 

It  is  self-evident  that  we  are  conscious  whereof  we  speak, 
whether  we  speak  philosophically  or  otherwise.  Thus  in  the 
preceding  chapter  we  became  conscious  of  something.  The 
object  of  our  consciousness  was  produced  through  free  self-de- 
termination of  our  thinking  faculty  by  means  of  an  arbitrary 
abstraction. 

But  at  present  we  assert  that  the  same  object  exists  for  us  ori- 
ginally, i.  e.,  independent  of  all  philosophizing,  and  necessarily 
forces  itself  upon  us  as  sure  as  we  have  any  consciousness  at  all. 
If  this  is  true,  then  an  original  consciousness  thereof  exists, 
though  perhaps  not  precisely  as  of  a single  object,  in  the  same 
abstraction  in  which  we  have  just  established  it.  Perhaps  it  may 
always  occur  in  this  original  consciousness,  in  and  together  with 
another  thought,  as  a determination  of  that  thought. 

Now  let  us  ask  — Is,  then,  this  original  consciousness  differ- 
ently constituted  from  that  which  we  have  just  now  produced  in 
us  through  philosophizing?  How  were  this  possible,  since  the 
same  is  to  be  its  object,  and  since  the  philosopher  has  surely  no 
other  subjective  form  of  thinking  than  the  common  and  original 
form  of  thinking  of  universal  reason  ? 

Why,  then,  do  we  seek  what  we  already  possess?  We  have  it 
without  knowing  it;  and  at  present  we  only  want  to  produce  this 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 


579 


knowing  of  it  within  us.  The  rational  being  is  constituted  in  such 
a manner  as  rarely  to  observe  its  own  thinking  when  thinking, 
but  only  the  object  of  its  thinking;  or  as  usually  to  lose  itself,  the 
subject,  in  the  object.  Nevertheless,  philosophy  is,  above  all, 
anxious  to  know  the  subject  as  such  in  order  to  obtain  a judgment 
concerning  its  influence  upon  the  determination  of  the  object. 
This  can  only  be  done  if  the  mere  reflection  is  made  the  object  of 
a new  reflection. 

To  the  non-philosopher  it  may  seem  curious  and,  perhaps, 
ridiculous  to  require  any  one  to  become  conscious  of  a conscious- 
ness ; but  this  would  only  prove  his  ignorance  of  philosophy  and 
his  inability  to  philosophize. 

Genetical  Description  of  the  Consciousness  of  our 
Original  Being 

The  Ego  has  the  absolute  power  of  contemplation,  for  only 
through  it  is  it  Ego.  This  power  can  be  no  further  deduced,  and 
needs  no  further  deduction.  With  the  positing  of  an  Ego  this 
power  is  posited. 

Again,  the  Ego  can  and  must  contemplate  what  it  is.  The  pe- 
culiar determination  of  contemplation,  here  postulated,  requires 
likewise  no  deduction  or  mediation  through  external  grounds. 
The  Ego  contemplates  itself  because  it  does,  so  far  as  regards  the 
mere  fact. 

Now  let  us  proceed  to  determine  this  fact;  in  doing  which  we 
shall  and  must  calculate  in  each  reader  upon  his  own  self-active 
generation  of  that  whereof  we  speak,  and  upon  his  close  ob- 
servation of  that  which  will  arise  within  him  when  he  thus  gen- 
erates. 

A.  The  contemplating  intelligence  posits  the  above  described 
tendency  to  absolute  activity  as  itself,  or  as  identical  with  itself, 
the  intelligence  that  absoluteness  of  real  activity  thus  becomes  the 
true  essence  of  the  intelligence,  and  is  brought  under  the  author- 
ity of  the  conception,  whereby  alone  it  first  becomes  true  free- 
dom : absoluteness  of  the  absoluteness,  absolute  power  to  make 
itself  absolute.  Through  the  consciousness  of  its  absoluteness 


58o  JOHANN  GOTTLIEB  FICHTE 

the  Ego  tears  itself  loose  from  itself,  and  posits  itself  as  inde- 
pendent. 

Explanatory 

Let  me  explain  this  expression : it  tears  itself  loose  from  itself. 
All  contemplation,  as  such,  is  to  be  directed  upon  something  ex- 
isting independently  of  it,  and  existing  precisely  as  it  is  contem- 
plated. It  is  the  same  with  the  contemplation  whereof  we  speak 
here.  The  Ego  as  absolute  is  to  have  had  existence  before  it  was 
seized  in  contemplation,  and  this  absoluteness  is  to  constitute  its 
independent  being,  apart  from  all  contemplation  of  it.  Now, 
where  the  contemplated  issomething  outside  of  the  contemplating, 
the  intelligence  is  altogether  passive  in  its  observation.  Such  is 
not  to  be  the  case  in  our  instance.  Here  the  contemplated  is  itself 
the  contemplating;  not  immediately  as  such,  it  is  true,  but  it  is 
the  same  one  essence,  power,  and  substance,  as  the  contemplat- 
ing. Hence  the  intelligence  is  in  this  instance  not  merely  a pas- 
sive observer,  but  rather  becomes  for  itself  absolute  real  power  of 
the  conception.  The  Ego,  as  absolute  power  with  consciousness, 
tears  itself  loose  from  the  Ego,  as  the  given  absolute  without 
power  and  consciousness. 

It  is  well  to  dwell  somewhat  longer  upon  this  chief  thought, 
which  may  seem  difficult  to  many,  but  upon  the  direct  compre- 
hension whereof  the  possibility  of  understanding  our  whole  sys- 
tem depends. 

Let  the  reader  once  more  think  of  an  elastic  steel  spring.  It  is 
true  that  the  spring  contains  within  itself  the  principle  of  a pe- 
culiar movement,  which  is  not  given  to  the  spring  externally,  but 
which  rather  resists  the  direction  given  it  from  without.  Never- 
theless you  will  doubtless  hesitate  to  ascribe  that  which  you  have 
hitherto  very  properly  called  freedom  to  the  spring.  Whence  this 
hesitation?  If  you  should  say,  “Because  the  resistance  follows 
from  the  nature  of  the  spring,  and  from  the  circumstance  of  an 
external  pressure  upon  it  with  inevitable  necessity,”  I am  willing 
to  remove  this  inevitable  necessity.  I will  permit  you  to  assume 
that  the  steel  spring,  at  some  time,  resists  the  pressure  from  an 
unknown  reason,  and  at  another  time  from  an  unknown  reason 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 


581 

cedes  to  the  pressure.  Are  you  now  going  to  call  such  a steel 
spring  free?  I do  not  believe  it.  The  conception  of  freedom, 
instead  of  facilitating  the  connection  of  freedom  with  the 
spring,  rather  asks  you  to  think  something  absolutely  unthink- 
able, namely,  blind  chance;  and  you  will  persist  in  saying  that 
although  you  do  not  know  through  what  the  spring  is  deter- 
mined to  resist,  you  are  sure  that  the  spring  is  thus  determined, 
and  does  not  determine  itself  to  resist,  and  that  the  spring  can, 
therefore,  not  be  called  free. 

Now,  let  me  ask  you,  what  do  you  think  when  you  think  “to 
be  determined”  in  opposition  to  “self-determined,”  and  what  is 
it  you  require  for  the  possibility  of  the  latter  ? We  will  try  to  make 
this  clear;  and  since  you  found  it  impossible  to  do  anything  with 
the  thought  of  a free  thing  as  a thing  dependent  upon  blind 
chance,  nor  found  that  thought  to  facilitate  the  connection  of 
freedom  with  a thing,  we  shall  commence  with  it.  You  said,  then, 
the  steel  spring  is  determined  hy  its  nature  to  resist  external  pres- 
sure. What  does  this  mean  ? In  thus  asking.  What  does  it  mean  ? 
I do  not  propose  that  you  shall  acquire  an  external  knowledge, 
or  discover  new  results  by  progressive  conclusions  from  an 
acquired  knowledge.  That  which  I ask  for,  you  think  at  this 
very  moment,  and  you  have  always  thought  it,  even  before  you 
resolved  to  philosophize ; and  I merely  ask  that  you  shall  make 
clear  to  yourself  what  you  really  think,  or  that  you  shall  but  un- 
derstand what  you  say.  The  nature  of  the  thing  is  its  fixed  being, 
without  internal  movement,  quiet  and  dead;  and  such  a fixed 
being  you  posit  necessarily  when  you  posit  a thing  and  a nature 
thereof,  for  such  a positing  is  precisely  the  thinking  of  a thing. 
Now,  together  with  this  unchangeable  permanency  of  the  thing, 
you  posit  that  under  a certain  condition  a change  will  result  in 
the  thing.  For  that  which  you  have  posited  a.s  fixed  and  unchange- 
able is  the  nature  of  the  thing,  which  does  not  depend  upon  the 
thing,  since  the  thing  is  itself  its  own  nature,  and  its  nature  is 
the  thing  itself.  When  you  think  the  one,  you  necessarily  think 
the  other  also,  and  you  will  surely  not  say  that  the  thing  exists  in 
advance  of  its  own  nature,  and  determines  its  own  nature.  But 
having  once  posited  this  nature  of  the  thing,  you  proceed  in  your 


582  JOHANN  GOTTLIEB  FICHTE 

thinking  from  a being  (of  the  nature  of  the  thing)  to  another 
being  (of  the  manifestation  of  this  nature  under  certain  condi- 
tions), and  this  progression  of  your  thinking  describes  a steady 
series  of  being.  Expressing  the  same  subjectively,  your  contem- 
plation is  always  tied  down,  is  always  merely  passively  observing, 
and  there  is  not  a moment  in  the  series  when  it  might  become 
self-productive;  and  this  condition  of  your  thinking  is  precisely 
that  which  you  call  the  thinking  of  necessity,  and  through  which 
you  deny  all  freedom  to  the  object  of  such  thinking. 

We  have,  therefore,  discovered  the  ground  why  you  find  it 
absolutely  impossible  to  think  freedom  in  our  present  case,  and 
in  all  similar  cases.  Expressing  it  objectively,  all  being  which 
flows  itself  from  a being  is  a necessary  being,  and  not  a product 
of  freedom.  Expressing  it  subjectively,  the  conception  of  a 
necessary  being  arises  in  us  through  the  connecting  of  one  being 
with  another  being. 

From  this  you  will  now  be  able  to  conclude,  through  opposition, 
what  it  is  you  require  in  order  to  think  freedom,  which  you  surely 
can  think,  and  always  have  thought. 

You  require  a being  which  shall  have,  not  no  ground  at  all  — 
for  such  you  cannot  think  — but  a ground  in  something  which  is 
not  again  a being.  Now,  besides  being,  we  only  have  thinking. 
Hence,  a being  which  you  may  be  able  to  think  as  product  of  free- 
dom must  proceed  from  a thinking.  Let  us  see  whether  this  pre- 
supposition makes  freedom  comprehensible. 

Something  which  is  not  determined,  but  determines  itself,  is  to 
be  called  force.  Is  this  active  determining  comprehensible  when 
presupposed  as  occurring  through  a thinking  ? Undoubtedly, 
provided  we  are  but  able  to  think  thinking  itself,  and  do  not  again 
make  a thing  out  of  our  conception.  The  reason  why  we  could 
not  derive  freedom  from  a being  was  because  the  conception  of  a 
being  involved  that  of  a fixed  permanency.  But  such  permanent 
being  does  not  hinder  us  when  we  derive  freedom  from  thinking, 
since  thinking  is  not  posited  as  something  permanent,  remaining, 
etc.,  but  as  agility  = producing  activity],  and  only  as 

agility,  of  the  intelligence. 

To  be  posited  as  free,  something  must  be  posited  as  determin- 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS 


583 

ing  itself.  Such  was  your  assertion.  (It  must  not  only  be  not  deter- 
mined through  an  external  other,  but  also  not  through  its  own 
nature.)  What  does  that  Itself  mean  ? It  doubtless  involves  the 
thought  of  a twofold.  The  free  is  to  be  before  it  is  determined ; it  is 
to  have  an  existence  independent  of  its  determinedness.  A thing 
cannot  be  thought  as  determining  itself  precisely  because  it  has 
not  being  in  advance  of  its  nature,  or  of  the  system  of  its  deter- 
minedness. But  the  intelligence,  with  its  conception  of  real  being, 
is  in  advance  of  that  real  being,  and  the  former  contains  the 
ground  of  the  latter.  The  conception  of  a certain  being  precedes 
that  being,  and  the  latter  is  dependent  upon  the  former. 

Our  assertion  is,  therefore,  that  only  the  intelligence  can  be 
thought  as  free,  and  that  the  intelligence  becomes  free  only 
through  thus  seizing  itself  as  intelligence,  for  only  thus  does  it  sub- 
sume its  being  under  something  which  is  higher  than  all  being, 
namely,  the  conception.  Somebody  might  object  that  in  our  own 
argumentation  (in  the  preceding  chapter)  the  absoluteness  is 
presupposed  as  a being;  and  that  the  reflection  which  is  now  to 
achieve  such  great  wonders  is  evidently  itself  conditioned  through 
that  absoluteness,  having  it  for  its  object,  and  is  neither  reflection 
in  general  nor  this  particular  reflection,  unless  an  object  in  general 
and  this  particular  object  are  presupposed.  To  this  objection  we 
reply  that  it  will  appear  hereafter  how  this  absoluteness  itself  is 
required  for,  and  results  from,  the  possibility  of  an  intelligence 
in  general,  and  that ‘hence  the  above  proposition  may  also  be 
reversed  as  follows : only  that  which  is  free  can  be  thought  as  an 
intelligence;  an  intelligence  is  necessarily  free. 

B.  The  Ego,  in  contemplating  that  tendency  to  absolute  activ- 
ity as  itself,  posits  itself  as  free,  i.  e.,  as  a power  to  have  causality 
through  the  mere  conception. 

Explanatory 

Freedom  is,  according  to  Kant,  the  power  to  absolutely  begin  a 
condition  or  being.  This  is  an  excellent  nominal  explanation ; and 
yet  it  seems  to  have  been  of  little  value  in  effecting  a better  insight 


584  JOHANN  GOTTLIEB  FICHTE 

into  freedom.  For  that  explanation  did  not  answer  the  higher 
question : how  a condition  or  being  could  have  an  absolute  begin- 
ning, or  how  such  an  absolute  beginning  could  be  thought;  by 
which  answer  a genetical  conception  of  freedom  would  have  been 
generated  before  our  very  eyes.  Now  this  we  have  just  done.  The 
absolutely  beginning  condition  is  not  connected  with  nothingness 
— for  the  finite  rational  being  necessarily  thinks  through  media- 
tion and  connection.  But  it  begins  with  thinking  itself  — not 
with  a being  but  with  thinking. 

In  order  to  establish  the  conception  in  this  manner,  it  is  cer- 
tainly necessary  to  walk,  and  to  be  able  to  walk,  the  path  of  the 
science  of  knowledge,  to  be  able  to  abstract  from  all  being,  as  such 
(or  from  the  fact),  and  to  start  from  that  which  is  higher  than  all 
being,  from  contemplating  and  thinking,  or  from  the  acting  of  the 
intelligence  in  general.  The  same  path,  which  alone  leads  to  the 
right  end  in  the  theoretical  philosophy  in  explaining  being,  is  the 
path  which  also  alone  makes  practical  philosophy  possible.  This 
likewise  makes  more  clear  our  previous  expression:  “The  Ego 
posits  itself  as  independent.”  The  first  view  of  this  proposition, 
namely,  “ The  Ego  gathers  up  all  it  originally  is  — and  originally 
it  is  nothing  unless  free  — in  the  contemplation  and  conception  of 
itself,”  we  have  already  explained  completely.  But  that  proposi- 
tion involves  something  more.  For  all  that  the  Ego  can  be  in 
actuality,  when  the  conception  becomes  cognition,  and  when  the 
intelligence  is  the  mere  passive  observer  of  the  external  world, 
originally  depends,  after  all,  upon  the  conception.  Whatsoever 
the  Ego  is  to  become,  the  Ego  must  first  make  itself  to  be  through 
the  conception,  and  whatsoever  the  Ego  will  be  in  the  future,  it 
most  surely  will  have  made  itself  through  the  conception.  Hence 
the  Ego  is  its  own  ground  in  every  respect,  and  absolutely  posits 
itself  even  in  a practical  significance. 

But  the  Ego  only  posits  itself  as  a faculty  or  power. 

This  must,  and  can,  be  strictly  proven.  For  the  tendency  to  have 
absolute  activity  comes  under  the  authority  of  the  intelligence, 
as  we  have  seen.  But  the  intelligence,  as  such,  is  — as  each  one 
must  discover  in  contemplating  himself  as  intelligence,  and  as 
cannot  be  demonstrated  to  anybody  — absolutely  determining 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  ETHICS  585 

itself  a mere  pure  activity,  in  opposition  to  all  permanent  and 
posited  being,  however  finely  conceived ; hence  it  is  capable  of  no 
determination  through  its  nature  or  essence,  or  through  a tend- 
ency, impulse,  or  inclination  in  it.  Hence  also  such  an  inclina- 
tion, however  finely  conceived,  is  not  possible  in  that  power  of 
activity  which  is  under  the  control  of  the  intelligence,  in  so  far  as 
it  is  under  such  control;  which  active  power  is  therefore  to  be 
thought  as  a mere  pure  faculty,  i.  e.,  as  merely  a conception,  to 
which  an  actuality  can,  in  thinking,  be  connected  as  to  its  ground, 
although  there  is  not  in  it  the  least  datum  to  show  what  sort  of  an 
actuality  it  will  be. 


GEORG  WILHELM  FRIEDRICH  HEGEL 

(1770-1831 ) 

PHILOSOPHY  OF  RIGHT 


Translated from  the  German  * by 
S.  W.  DYDE 

INTRODUCTION 

I.  The  philosophic  science  of  right  has  as  its  object  the  idea  Oi 
right,  i.  e.,  the  conception  of  right  and  the  realization  of  the 
conception. 

Note.  — Philosophy  has  to  do  with  ideas  or  realized  thoughts, 
and  hence  not  with  what  we  have  been  accustomed  to  call  mere 
conceptions.  It  has  indeed  to  exhibit  the  onesidedness  and 
untruth  of  these  mere  conceptions,  and  to  show  that,  while  that 
which  commonly  bears  the  name  “conception,”  is  only  an  ab- 
stract product  of  the  understanding,  the  true  conception  alone 
has  reality  and  gives  this  reality  to  itself.  Everything,  other  than 
the  reality  which  is  established  by  the  conception,  is  transient 
surface  existence,  external  accident,  opinion,  appearance  void  of 
essence,  untruth,  delusion,  and  so  forth.  Through  the  actual 
shape,  which  it  takes  upon  itself  in  actuality,  is  the  conception 
itself  understood.  This  shape  is  the  other  essential  element  of  the 
idea,  and  is  to  be  distinguished  from  the  form,  which  exists  only 
as  conception. 

Addition.  — The  conception  and  its  existence  are  two  sides, 
distinct  yet  united,  like  soul  and  body.  The  body  is  the  same  life 
as  the  soul,  and  yet  the  two  can  be  named  independently.  Soul 
without  a body  would  not  be  a living  thing,  and  vice  versa.  Thus 
the  visible  existence  of  the  conception  is  its  body,  just  as  the  body 
obeys  the  soul  which  produced  it.  Seeds  contain  the  tree  and  its 

* From  G.  W.  F.  Hegel’s  Grundlinien  der  Pkitosophie  des  Rechts.'BtrVm,  1820. 
Reprinted  from  Hegel’s  Philosophy  of  Right,  trans.  by  S.  W.  Dyde,  London; 
G.  Bell  & Sons,  1896. 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  RIGHT 


587 

whole  power,  though  they  are  not  the  tree  itself;  the  tree  corre- 
sponds accurately  to  the  simple  structure  of  the  seed.  If  the  body 
does  not  correspond  to  the  soul,  it  is  defective.  The  unity  of  visi- 
ble existence  and  conception,  of  body  and  soul,  is  the  idea.  It  is 
not  a mere  harmony  of  the  two,  but  their  complete  interpenetra- 
tion. There  lives  nothing,  which  is  not  in  some  way  idea.  The 
idea  of  right  is  freedom,  which,  if  it  is  to  be  apprehended  truly, 
must  be  known  both  in  its  conception  and  in  the  embodiment  of 
the  conception. 

2.  The  science  of  right  is  a part  of  philosophy.  Hence  it  must 
develop  the  idea,  which  is  the  reason  of  an  object,  out  of  the  con- 
ception. It  is  the  same  thing  to  say  that  it  must  regard  the  pecul- 
iar internal  development  of  the  thing  itself.  Since  it  is  a part,  it 
has  a definite  beginning,  which  is  the  result  and  truth  of  what  goes 
before,  and  this,  that  goes  before,  constitutes  its  so-called  proof. 
Hence  the  origin  of  the  conception  of  right  falls  outside  of  the 
science  of  right.  The  deduction  of  the  conception  is  presupposed 
in  this  treatise,  and  is  to  be  considered  as  already  given. 


4.  The  territory  of  right  is  in  general  the  spiritual,  and  its  more 
definite  place  and  origin  is  the  will,  which  is  free.  Thus  freedom 
constitutes  the  substance  and  essential  character  of  the  will,  and 
the  system  of  right  is  the  kingdom  of  actualized  freedom.  It  is  the 
world  of  spirit,  which  is  produced  out  of  itself,  and  is  a second 
nature. 

Addition.  — Freedom  of  will  is  best  explained  by  reference  to 
physical  nature.  Freedom  is  a fundamental  phase  of  will,  as 
weight  is  of  bodies.  When  it  is  said  that  matter  is  heavy,  it  might 
be  meant  that  the  predicate  is  an  accident;  but  such  is  not  the 
case,  for  in  matter  there  is  nothing  which  has  not  weight;  in  fact, 
matter  is  weight.  That  which  is  heavy  constitutes  the  body,  and 
is  the  body.  Just  so  is  it  with  freedom  and  the  will;  that  which  is 
free  is  the  will.  Will  without  freedom  is  an  empty  word,  and  free- 
dom becomes  actual  only  as  will,  as  subject.  A remark  may  also 
be  made  as  to  the  connection  of  willing  and  thinking.  Spirit,  in 
general,  is  thought,  and  by  thought  man  is  distinguished  from  the 
animal.  But  w^e  must  not  imagine  that  man  is  on  one  side  think- 


588  GEORG  WILHELM  FR.  HEGEL 

ing  and  on  another  side  willing,  as  though  he  had  will  in  one 
pocket  and  thought  in  another.  Such  an  idea  is  vain.  The  dis- 
tinction between  thought  and  will  is  only  that  between  a theo- 
retical and  a practical  relation.  They  are  not  two  separate  facul- 
ties. The  will  is  a special  way  of  thinking ; it  is  thought  translating 
itself  into  reality;  it  is  the  impulse  of  thought  to  give  itself  reality. 
The  distinction  between  thought  and  will  may  be  expressed  in 
this  way.  When  I think  an  object,  I make  of  it  a thought,  and 
take  from  it  the  sensible.  Thus  I make  of  it  something  which  is 
essentially  and  directly  mine.  Only  in  thought  am  I self-con- 
tained. Conception  is  the  penetration  of  the  object,  which  is 
then  no  longer  opposed  to  me.  From  it  I have  taken  its  own  pecul- 
iar nature,  which  it  had  as  an  independent  object  in  opposition  to 
me.  As  Adam  said  to  Eve,  “ Thou  art  flesh  of  my  flesh  and  bone  of 
my  bone,”  so  says  the  spirit,  “ This  object  is  spirit  of  my  spirit,  and 
all  alienation  has  disappeared.”  Any  idea  is  a universalizing,  and 
this  process  belongs  to  thinking.  To  make  something  universal 
is  to  think.  The  “I”  is  thought  and  the  universal.  When  Isay 
■‘I,”  I let  fall  all  particularity  of  character,  natural  endowment, 
knowledge,  age.  The  I is  empty,  a point  and  simple,  but  in  its  sim- 
plicity active.  The  gaily  coloured  world  is  before  me ; I stand  op- 
posed to  it,  and  in  this  relation  I cancel  and  transcend  the  oppo- 
sition, and  make  the  content  my  own.  The  I is  at  home  in  the 
world,  when  it  knows  it,  and  still  more  when  it  has  conceived  it. 

So  much  for  the  theoretical  relation.  The  practical,  on  the 
other  hand,  begins  with  thinking,  with  the  I itself.  It  thus  appears 
first  of  all  as  placed  in  opposition,  because  it  exhibits,  as  it  were, 
a separation.  As  I am  practical,  I am  active;  I act  and  determine 
myself;  and  to  determine  myself  means  to  set  up  a distinction. 
But  these  distinctions  are  again  mine,  my  own  determinations 
come  to  me;  and  the  ends  are  mine,  to  which  I am  impelled. 
Even  when  I let  these  distinctions  and  determinations  go,  setting 
them  in  the  so-called  external  world,  they  remain  mine.  They 
are  that  which  I have  done  and  made,  and  bear  the  trace  of  my 
spirit.  That  is  the  distinction  to  be  drawn  between  the  theoretical 
and  the  practical  relations. 

And  now  the  connection  of  the  two  must  be  also  stated-  The 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  RIGHT  589 

theoretical  is  essentially  contained  in  the  practical.  Against  the 
idea  that  the  two  are  separate  runs  the  fact  that  man  has  no  will 
without  intelligence.  The  will  holds  within  itself  the  theoretical, 
the  will  determines  itself,  and  this  determination  is  in  the  first 
instance  internal.  That  which  I will  I place  before  my  mind,  and 
it  is  an  object  for  me.  The  animal  acts  according  to  instinct,  is 
impelled  by  something  internal,  and  so  is  also  practical.  But 
it  has  no  will,  because  it  cannot  place  before  its  mind  what  it 
desires.  Similarly  man  cannot  use  his  theoretic  faculty  or  think 
without  will,  for  in  thinking  w’e  are  active.  The  content  of  what 
is  thought  receives,  indeed,  the  form  of  something  existing,  but 
this  existence  is  occasioned  by  our  activity  and  by  it  established. 
These  distinctions  of  theoretical  and  practical  are  inseparable; 
they  are  one  and  the  same;  and  in  every  activity,  whether  of 
thought  or  will,  both  these  elements  are  found. 

5.  The  will  contains  (a)  the  element  of  pure  indeterminateness, 
i.  e.,  the  pure  doubling  of  the  I back  in  thought  upon  itself.  In 
this  process  every  limit  or  content,  present  though  it  be  directly 
by  way  of  nature,  as  in  want,  appetite,  or  impulse,  or  given  in  any 
specific  way,  is  dissolved.  Thus  we  have  the  limitless  infinitude 
of  absolute  abstraction,  or  universality,  the  pure  thought  of  itself. 

Note.  — Those  who  treat  thinking  and  willing  as  two  special, 
peculiar,  and  separate  faculties,  and,  further,  look  upon  thought 
as  detrimental  to  the  will,  especially  the  good  will,  show  from  the 
very  start  that  they  know  nothing  of  the  nature  of  willing  — a 
remark  which  we  shall  be  called  upon  to  make  a number  of  times 
upon  the  same  attitude  of  mind.  — The  will  on  one  side  is  the 
possibility  of  abstraction  from  every  aspect  in  which  the  I finds 
itself  or  has  set  itself  up.  It  reckons  any  content  as  a limit,  and 
flees  from  it.  This  is  one  of  the  forms  of  the  self-direction  of  the 
will,  and  is  by  imaginative  thinking  insisted  upon  as  of  itself 
freedom.  It  is  the  negative  side  of  the  will,  or  freedom  as  ap- 
prehended by  the  understanding.  This  freedom  is  that  of  the 
void,  which  has  taken  actual  shape,  and  is  stirred  to  passion.  It 
intends,  indeed,  to  bring  to  pass  some  positive  social  condition, 
such  as  universal  equality  or  universal  religious  life.  But  in  fact 
it  does  not  will  the  positive  reality  of  any  such  condition,  since 


590 


GEORG  WILHELM  FR.  HEGEL 


that  would  carry  in  its  train  a system,  and  introduce  a separation 
by  way  of  institutions  and  between  individuals.  But  classification 
and  objective  system  attain  self-consciousness  only  by  destroy- 
ing negative  freedom.  Negative  freedom  is  actuated  by  a mere 
solitary  abstract  idea,  whose  realization  is  nothing  but  the  fury 
of  desolation. 

Addition.  — This  phase  of  will  implies  that  I break  loose  from 
everything,  give  up  all  ends,  and  bury  myself  in  abstraction.  It  is 
man  alone  who  can  let  go  everything,  even  life.  He  can  commit 
suicide,  an  act  impossible  for  the  animal,  which  always  remains 
only  negative,  abiding  in  a state  foreign  to  itself,  to  which  it  must 
merely  get  accustomed.  Man  is  pure  thought  of  himself,  and  only 
in  thinking  has  he  the  power  to  give  himself  universality,  and  to 
extinguish  in  himself  all  that  is  particular  and  definite.  Nega- 
tive freedom,  or  freedom  of  the  understanding,  is  one-sided,  yet 
as  this  one-sidedness  contains  an  essential  feature,  it  is  not  to  be 
discarded.  But  the  defect  of  the  understanding  is  that  it  exalts  its 
one-sidedness  to  the  sole  and  highest  place.  This  form  of  freedom 
frequently  occurs  in  history.  By  the  Hindus,  e.  g.,  the  highest 
freedom  is  declared  to  be  persistence  in  the  consciousness  of  one’s 
simple  identity  with  himself,  to  abide  in  the  empty  space  of  one’s 
own  inner  being,  like  the  colourless  light  of  pure  intuition,  and 
to  renounce  every  activity  of  life,  every  purpose  and  every  idea. 
In  this  way  man  becomes  Brahma ; there  is  no  longer  any  distinc- 
tion between  finite  man  and  Brahma,  every  difference  having 
been  swallowed  up  in  this  universality.  A more  concrete  mani- 
festation of  this  freedom  is  the  fanaticism  of  political  and  reli- 
gious life.  Of  this  nature  was  the  terrible  epoch  of  the  French 
Revolution,  by  which  all  distinctions  in  talent  and  authority  were 
to  have  been  superseded.  In  this  time  of  upheaval  and  com- 
motion any  specific  thing  was  intolerable.  Fanaticism  wills 
an  abstraction  and  not  an  articulate  association.  It  finds  all  dis- 
tinctions antagonistic  to  its  indefiniteness,  and  supersedes  them. 
Hence  in  the  French  Revolution  the  people  abolished  the  institu- 
tions which  they  themselves  had  set  up,  since  every  institution 
is  inimical  to  the  abstract  self-consciousness  of  equality. 

6.  (jS)  The  I is  also  the  transition  from  blank  indefiniteness  to 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  RIGHT 


591 


the  distinct  and  definite  establishment  of  a definite  content  and 
object,  whether  this  content  be  given  by  nature  or  produced  out 
of  the  conception  of  spirit.  Through  this  establishment  of  itself 
as  a definite  thing  the  I becomes  a reality.  This  is  the  absolute 
element  of  the  finitude  or  specialization  of  the  I. 

Note.  — This  second  element  in  the  characterization  of  the  I 
is  just  as  negative  as  the  first,  since  it  annuls  and  replaces  the 
first  abstract  negativity.  As  the  particular  is  contained  in  the  uni- 
versal, so  this  second  phase  is  contained  already  in  the  first,  and 
is  only  an  establishing  of  what  the  first  is  implicitly.  The  first 
phase,  if  taken  independently,  is  not  the  true  infinitude,  i.  e.,  the 
concrete  universal,  or  the  conception,  but  limited  and  one-sided. 
In  that  it  is  the  abstraction  from  all  definite  character,  it  has  a 
definite  character.  Its  abstract  and  one-sided  nature  constitutes 
its  definite  character,  its  defect  and  finitude. 

The  distinct  characterization  of  these  two  phases  of  the  I is  found 
in  the  philosophy  of  Fichte  as  also  in  that  of  Kant.  Only,  in  the 
exposition  of  Fichte  the  I,  when  taken  as  unlimited,  as  it  is  in  the 
first  proposition  of  his  “ Wissenschaftslehre,”  is  merely  positive. 
It  is  the  universality  and  identity  made  by  the  understanding. 
Hence  this  abstract  I is  in  its  independence  to  be  taken  as  the 
truth,  to  which  by  way  of  mere  addition  comes  in  the  second  prop- 
osition, the  limitation,  or  the  negative  in  general,  whether  it  be  in 
the  form  of  a given  external  limit  or  of  an  activity  of  the  I.  To  appre- 
hend the  negative  as  immanent  in  the  universal  or  self-identical, 
and  also  as  in  the  I,  was  the  next  step,  which  speculative  philo- 
sophy had  to  make.  Of  this  want  they  have  no  presentiment,  who 
like  Fichte  never  apprehend  that  the  infinite  and  finite  are,  if  sep- 
arated, abstract,  and  must  be  seen  as  immanent  one  in  the  other. 

Addition.  — This  second  element  makes  its  appearance  as  the 
opposite  of  the  first ; it  is  to  be  understood  in  its  general  form ; it 
belongs  to  freedom,  but  does  not  constitute  the  whole  of  it.  Here 
the  I passes  over  from  blank  indeterminateness  to  the  distinct 
establishment  of  a specific  character  as  a content  or  object.  I do 
not  will  merely,  but  I will  something.  Such  a will,  as  is  analyzed 
in  the  preceding  paragraph,  wills  only  the  abstract  universal,  and 
therefore  wills  nothing.  Hence  it  is  not  a will.  The  particular 


592 


GEORG  WILHELM  FR.  HEGEL 


thing  which  the  will  wills  is  a limitation,  since  the  will,  in  order 
to  be  a wall,  must  in  general  limit  itself.  Limit  or  negation  con- 
sists in  the  will  willing  something.  Particularizing  is  thus  as  a 
rule  named  finitude.  Ordinary  reflection  holds  the  first  element, 
that  of  the  indefinite,  for  the  absolute  and  higher,  and  the  limited 
for  a mere  negation  of  this  indefiniteness.  But  this  indefiniteness 
is  itself  only  a negation,  in  contrast  wdth  the  definite  and  finite. 
The  I is  solitude  and  absolute  negation.  The  indefinite  will  is 
thus  quite  as  much  one-sided  as  the  will,  which  continues  merely 
in  the  definite. 

7.  (y)  The  will  is  the  unity  of  these  tw'o  elements.  It  is  particu- 
larity turned  back  within  itself  and  thus  led  back  to  universality; 
it  is  individuality ; it  is  the  self-direction  of  the  I.  Thus  at  one  and 
the  same  time  it  establishes  itself  as  its  owm  negation,  that  is  to  say, 
as  definite  and  limited,  and  it  also  abides  by  itself,  in  its  self- 
identity  and  universality,  and  in  this  position  remains  purely  self- 
enclosed.  — The  I determines  itself  in  so  far  as  it  is  the  reference 
of  negativity  to  itself ; and  yet  in  this  self-reference  it  is  indifferent 
to  its  own  definite  character.  This  it  knows  as  its  own,  that  is,  as 
an  ideal  or  a mere  possibility,  by  which  it  is  not  bound,  but  rather 
exists  in  it  merely  because  it  establishes  itself  there.  — This  is  the 
freedom  of  the  will,  constituting  its  conception  or  substantive 
reality.  It  is  its  gravity,  as  it  were,  just  as  gravity  is  the  substan- 
tive reality  of  a body. 

Note.  — Every  self-consciousness  knows  itself  as  at  once  uni- 
versal, or  the  possibility  of  abstracting  itself  from  everything  defi- 
nite, and  as  particular,  with  a fixed  object,  content,  or  aim.  These 
two  elements,  however,  are  only  abstractions.  The  concrete  and 
true  — and  all  that  is  true  is  concrete  — is  the  universality,  to 
which  the  particular  is  at  first  opposed,  but,  when  it  has  been 
turned  back  into  itself,  is  in  the  end  made  equal.  — This  unity  is 
individuality,  but  it  is  not  a simple  unit  as  is  the  individuality  of 
imaginative  thought,  but  a unit  in  terms  of  the  conception  (“  En- 
cyclopedia of  the  Philosophical  Sciences,”  §§  112-114).  In  other 
words,  this  individuality  is  properly  nothing  else  than  the  concep- 
tion. The  first  two  elements  of  the  will,  that  it  can  abstract  itself 
from  everything,  and  that  it  is  definite  through  either  its  own 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  RIGHT 


593 


activity  or  something  else,  are  easily  admitted  and  comprehended, 
because  in  their  separation  they  are  untrue,  and  characteristic  of 
the  mere  understanding.  But  into  the  third,  the  true  and  specu- 
lative — and  all  truth,  as  far  as  it  is  conceived,  must  be  thought 
speculatively  — the  understanding  declines  to  venture,  alw’ays 
calling  the  conception  the  inconceivable.  The  proof  and  more 
detailed  explanation  of  this  inmost  reserve  of  speculation,  of 
infinitude  as  the  negativity  which  refers  itself  to  itself,  and  of  this 
ultimate  source  of  all  activity,  life  and  consciousness,  belong  to 
logic,  as  the  purely  speculative  philosophy.  Here  it  can  be  noticed 
only  in  passing  that,  in  the  sentences,  “The  will  is  universal,” 
“The  will  directs  itself,”  the  will  is  already  regarded  as  presup- 
posed subject  or  substratum;  but  it  is  not  something  finished  and 
universal  before  it  determines  itself,  nor  yet  before  this  determina- 
tion is  superseded  and  idealized.  It  is  will  only  when  its  activity 
is  self-occasioned,  and  it  has  returned  into  itself. 

Addition.  — What  we  properly  call  will  contains  the  two  above- 
mentioned  elements.  The  I is,  first  of  all,  as  such,  pure  activity, 
the  universal  which  is  by  itself.  Next  this  universal  determines 
itself,  and  so  far  is  no  longer  by  itself,  but  establishes  itself  as  an- 
other, and  ceases  to  be  the  universal.  The  third  step  is  that  the 
will,  while  in  this  limitation,  i.  e.,  in  this  other,  is  by  itself.  While 
it  limits  itself,  it  yet  remains  with  itself,  and  does  not  lose  its  hold 
of  the  universal.  This  is,  then,  the  concrete  conception  of  free- 
dom, while  the  other  two  elements  have  been  thoroughly  abstract 
and  one-sided.  But  this  concrete  freedom  we  already  have  in  the 
form  of  perception,  as  in  friendship  and  love.  Here  a man  is 
not  one-sided,  but  limits  himself  willingly  in  reference  to  another, 
and  yet  in  this  limitation  knows  himself  as  himself.  In  this  de- 
termination he  does  not  feel  himself  determined,  but  in  the  con- 
templation of  the  other  as  another  has  the  feeling  of  himself. 
Freedom  also  lies  neither  in  indeterminateness  nor  in  determi- 
nateness, but  in  both.  The  wilful  man  has  a will  which  limits  itself 
wholly  to  a particular  object,  and  if  he  has  not  this  will,  he  sup- 
poses himself  not  to  be  free.  But  the  will  is  not  bound  to  a particu- 
lar object,  but  must  go  further,  for  the  nature  of  the  will  is  not  to 
be  one-sided  and  confined.  Free  will  consists  in  willing  a definite 


594  GEORG  WILHELM  FR.  HEGEL 

object,  but  in  so  doing  to  be  by  itself  and  to  return  again  into  the 
universal. 


22.  The  will  which  exists  absolutely  is  truly  infinite,  because  its 
object  being  the  will  itself,  is  for  it  not  another  or  a limitation.  In 
the  object  the  will  has  simply  reverted  into  itself.  Moreover,  it  is 
not  mere  possibility,  capacity,  potentiality  {potentia),  but  infi- 
nitely actual  {infinitum  actu),  because  the  reality  of  the  concep- 
tion or  its  visible  externality  is  internal  to  itself. 

Note.  — Hence  when  the  free  will  is  spoken  of  without  the 
qualification  of  absolute  freedom,  only  the  capacity  of  freedom 
is  meant,  or  the  natural  and  finite  will  and,  notwithstanding  all 
words  and  opinions  to  the  contrary,  not  the  free  will.  Since  the  un- 
derstanding comprehends  the  infinite  only  in  its  negative  aspect, 
and  hence  as  a beyond,  it  thinks  to  do  the  infinite  all  the  more  hon- 
our the  farther  it  removes  it  into  the  vague  distance,  and  the  more 
it  takes  it  as  a foreign  thing.  In  free  will  the  true  infinite  is  pre- 
sent and  real;  it  is  itself  the  actually  present  self-contained  idea. 

Addition.  — The  infinite  has  rightly  been  represented  as  a 
circle.  The  straight  line  goes  out  farther  and  farther,  and  sym- 
bolizes the  merely  negative  and  bad  infinite,  which,  unlike  the 
true,  does  not  return  into  itself.  The  free  will  is  truly  infinite,  for 
it  is  not  a mere  possibility,  or  disposition.  Its  external  reality  is  its 
own  inner  nature,  itself. 

23.  Only  in  this  freedom  is  the  will  wholly  by  itself,  because 
it  refers  to  nothing  but  itself,  and  all  dependence  upon  any  other 
thing  falls  away.  — The  will  is  true,  or  rather  truth  itself,  because 
its  character  consists  in  its  being  in  its  manifested  reality,  or  cor- 
relative opposite,  what  it  is  in  its  conception.  In  other  words,  the 
pure  conception  has  the  perception  or  intuition  of  itself  as  its  end 
and  reality. 


DIVISION  OF  THE  WORK 

33.  According  to  the  stages  in  the  development  of  the  idea  of 
the  absolutely  free  will. 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  RIGHT 


595 


A.  The  will  is  direct  or  immediate ; its  conception  is  therefore 
abstract,  i.  e.,  personality,  and  its  embodied  reality  is  a direct 
external  thing.  This  is  the  sphere  of  abstract  or  formal  right. 

B.  The  will,  passing  out  of  external  reality,  turns  back  into  it- 
self. Its  phase  is  subjective  individuality,  and  it  is  contrasted  with 
the  universal.  This  universal  is  on  its  internal  side  the  good,  and 
on  its  external  side  a presented  world,  and  these  two  sides  are  oc- 
casioned only  by  means  of  each  other.  In  this  sphere  the  idea  is 
divided,  and  exists  in  separate  elements.  The  right  of  the  subject- 
ive will  is  in  a relation  of  contrast  to  the  right  of  the  world,  or  the 
right  of  the  idea.  Here,  however,  the  idea  exists  only  implicitly. 
This  is  the  sphere  of  morality. 

c.  The  unity  and  truth  of  these  two  abstract  elements.  The 
thought  idea  of  the  good  is  realized  both  in  the  will  turned  back 
into  itself,  and  also  in  the  external  world.  Thus  freedom  exists  as 
real  substance,  which  is  quite  as  much  actuality  and  necessity  as 
it  is  subjective  will.  The  idea  here  is  its  absolutely  universal  ex- 
istence, viz.,  ethical  observance.  This  ethical  substance  is  again, 

a.  Natural  spirit;  the  family, 

h.  The  civic  community,  or  spirit  in  its  dual  existence  and  mere 
appearance, 

c.  The  state,  or  freedom,  which,  while  established  in  the  free 
self-dependence  of  the  particular  will,  is  also  universal  and  ob- 
jective. This  actual  and  organic  spirit  (a)  is  the  spirit  of  a nation, 
(/3)  is  found  in  the  relation  to  one  another  of  national  spirits,  and 
revealed  in  world  history  as  the  universal  world-spirit,  whose 
right  (y)  passing  through  and  beyond  this  relation  is  actualized 
and  revealed  in  world  history  as  the  universal  world-spirit, 
whose  right  is  the  highest. 

FIRST  PAR r.  ABSTRACT  RIGHT 

34.  The  completely  free  will,  when  it  is  conceived  abstractly,  is 
in  a condition  of  self-involved  simplicity.  What  actuality  it  has 
when  taken  in  this  abstract  way,  consists  in  a negative  attitude 
towards  reality,  and  a bare  abstract  reference  of  itself  to  itself. 
Such  an  abstract  will  is  the  individual  will  of  a subject.  It,  as 


596  GEORG  WILHELM  FR.  HEGEL 

particular,  has  definite  ends,  and,  as  exclusive  and  individual, 
has  these  ends  before  itself  as  an  externally  and  directly  presented 
world. 

Addition.  — The  remark  that  the  completely  free  will,  when  it 
is  taken  abstractly,  is  in  a condition  of  self-involved  simplicity 
must  be  understood  in  this  way.  The  completed  idea  of  the  will  is 
found  when  the  conception  has  realized  itself  fully,  and  in  such  a 
manner  that  the  embodiment  of  the  conception  is  nothing  but  the 
development  of  the  conception  itself.  But  at  the  outset  the  concep- 
tion is  abstract.  All  its  future  characters  are  implied  in  it,  it  is  true, 
but  as  yet  no  more  than  implied.  They  are,  in  other  words,  poten- 
tial, and  are  not  yet  developed  into  an  articulate  whole.  If  I say, 
“ I am  free,”  the  I,  here,  is  still  implicit  and  has  no  real  object  op- 
posed to  it.  But  from  the  standpoint  of  morality  as  contrasted 
with  abstract  right  there  is  opposition,  because  there  I am  a partic- 
ular ill,  while  the  good,  though  within  me,  is  the  universal.  Hence, 
at  that  stage,  the  will  contains  within  itself  the  contrast  between 
particular  and  universal,  and  in  that  way  is  made  definite.  But  at 
the  beginning  such  a distinction  does  not  occur,  because  in  the  first 
abstract  unity  there  is  as  yet  no  progress  or  modification  of  any 
kind.  That  is  what  is  meant  by  saying  that  the  will  has  the  mark 
of  self-involved  simplicity  or  immediate  being.  The  chief  thing  to 
notice  at  this  point  is  that  this  very  absence  of  definite  features  is 
itself  a definite  feature.  Absence  of  determinate  character  exists 
where  there  is  as  yet  no  distinction  between  the  will  and  its  con- 
tent. But  when  this  lack  of  definiteness  is  set  in  opposition  to  the 
definite,  it  becomes  itself  something  definite.  In  other  words, 
abstract  identity  becomes  the  distinguishing  feature  of  the  will, 
and  the  will  thereby  becomes  an  individual  will  or  person. 

35.  This  consciously  free  wdll  has  a universal  side,  which  con- 
sists in  a formal,  simple,  and  pure  reference  to  itself  as  a separate 
and  independent  unit.  This  reference  is  also  a self-conscious  one, 
though  it  has  no  further  content.  The  subject  is  thus  so  far  a 
person.  It  is  implied  in  personality  that  I,  as  a distinct  being,  am 
on  all  sides  completely  bounded  and  limited,  on  the  side  of  inner 
caprice,  impulse,  and  appetite,  as  well  as  in  my  direct  and  visible 
outer  life.  But  it  is  implied  likewise  that  I stand  in  absolutely 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  RIGHT 


597 

pure  relation  to  myself.  Hence  it  is  that  in  this  finitude  I know 
myself  as  infinite,  universal,  and  free. 

Note.  — Personality  does  not  arise  till  the  subject  has  not 
merely  a general  consciousness  of  himself  in  some  determinate 
mode  of  concrete  existence,  but  rather  a consciousness  of  himself 
as  a completely  abstract  I,  in  which  all  concrete  limits  and  values 
are  negated  and  declared  invalid.  Hence  personality  involves  the 
knowledge  of  one’s  self  as  an  object,  raised,  however,  by  thought 
into  the  realm  of  pure  infinitude,  a realm,  that  is,  in  which  it  is 
purely  identical  with  itself.  Individuals  and  peoples  ha\  e no  per- 
sonality, if  they  have  not  reached  this  pure  thought  and  self- 
consciousness.  In  this  way,  too,  the  absolute  or  completed  mind 
or  spirit  may  be  distinguished  from  its  mere  semblance.  The 
semblance,  though  self-conscious,  is  aware  of  itself  only  as  a 
merely  natural  will  with  its  external  objects.  The  other,  as  an 
abstract  and  pure  I,  has  itself  as  its  end  and  object,  and  is  there- 
fore a person. 

Addition.  — The  abstract  will,  the  will  which  exists  for  itself, 
is  a person.  The  highest  aim  of  man  is  to  be  a person,  and  yet 
again  the  mere  abstraction  “person”  is  not  held  in  high  esteem. 
Person  is  essentially  different  from  subject.  Subject  is  only  the 
possibility  of  personality.  Any  living  thing  at  all  is  a subject, 
while  person  is  a subject  which  has  its  subjectivity  as  an  object. 
As  a person  I exist  for  myself.  Personality  is  the  free  being  in 
pure  self-conscious  isolation.  I as  a person  am  conscious  of  free- 
dom. I can  abstract  myself  from  everything,  since  nothing  is  be- 
fore me  except  pure  personality.  Notwithstanding  all  this  I am 
as  a particular  person  completely  limited.  I am  of  a certain  age, 
height,  in  this  space,  and  so  on.  Thus  a person  is  at  one  and  the 
same  time  so  exalted  and  so  lowly  a thing.  In  him  is  the  unity 
of  infinite  and  finite,  of  limit  and  unlimited.  The  dignity  of  per- 
sonality can  sustain  a contradiction,  which  neither  contains  nor 
could  tolerate  anything  natural. 

36.  (i)  Personality  implies,  in  general,  a capacity  to  possess 
rights,  and  constitutes  the  conception  and  abstract  basis  of  ab- 
stract right.  This  right,  being  abstract,  must  be  formal  also.  Its 
mandate  is:  Be  a person  and  respect  others  as  persons. 


598  GEORG  WILHELM  FR.  HEGEL 

37.  (2)  The  particularity  of  the  will,  that  phase  of  the  will, 
namely,  which  implies  a consciousness  of  my  specific  interests, 
is  doubtless  an  element  of  the  whole  consciousness  of  the  will 
(§  34) , but  it  is  not  contained  in  mere  abstract  personality.  It  is 
indeed  present  in  the  form  of  appetite,  want,  impulse,  and  ran- 
dom desire,  but  is  distinct  as  yet  from  the  personality,  which  is  the 
essence  of  freedom.  — In  treating  of  formal  right,  therefore,  we 
do  not  trench  upon  special  interests,  such  as  my  advantage  or 
my  well-being,  nor  have  we  here  to  do  with  any  special  reason 
or  intention  of  the  will. 

Addition.  — Since  the  particular  phases  of  the  person  have  not 
as  yet  attained  the  form  of  freedom,  everything  relating  to  these 
elements  is  so  far  a matter  of  indifference.  When  any  one  bases 
a claim  upon  his  mere  formal  right,  he  may  be  wholly  selfish,  and 
often  such  a claim  comes  from  a contracted  heart  and  mind.  Un- 
civilized man,  in  general,  holds  fast  to  his  rights,  while  a more 
generous  disposition  is  alert  to  see  all  sides  of  the  question.  Ab- 
stract right  is,  moreover,  the  first  mere  possibility,  and  in  contrast 
with  the  whole  context  of  a given  relation  is  still  formal.  The  pos- 
session of  a right  gives  a certain  authority,  it  is  true,  but  it  is  not, 
therefore,  absolutely  necessary  that  I insist  upon  a right,  which  is 
only  one  aspect  of  the  whole  matter.  In  a word,  possibility  is 
something,  which  means  that  it  either  may  or  may  not  exist. 

38.  In  contrast  with  the  deeper  significance  of  a concrete  act 
in  all  its  moral  and  social  bearings,  abstract  right  is  only  a possi- 
bility. Such  a right  is,  therefore,  only  a permission  or  indication 
of  legal  power.  Because  of  this  abstract  character  of  right  the 
only  rule  which  is  unconditionally  its  own  is  merely  the  negative 
principle  not  to  injure  personality  or  anything  which  of  necessity 
belongs  to  it.  Hence  we  have  here  only  prohibitions,  the  positive 
form  of  command  having  in  the  last  resort  a prohibition  as  its 
basis. 

39.  (3)  A person  in  his  direct  and  definite  individuality  is  re- 
lated to  a given  external  nature.  To  this  outer  world  the  person- 
ality is  opposed  as  something  subjective.  But  to  confine  to  mere 
subjectivity  the  personality,  which  is  meant  to  be  infinite  and 
universal,  contradicts  and  destroys  its  nature.  It  bestirs  itself 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  RIGHT 


599 

to  abrogate  the  limitation  by  giving  itself  reality,  and  proceeds  to 
make  the  outer  visible  existence  its  own. 

40.  Right  is  at  first  the  simple  and  direct  concrete  existence 
which  freedom  gives  itself  directly.  This  unmodified  existence  is 
(a)  Possession  or  property.  Here  freedom  is  that  of  the  ab- 
stract will  in  general,  or  of  a separate  person  who  relates  himself 
only  to  himself. 

(&)  A person  by  distinguishing  himself  from  himself  becomes  re- 
lated to  another  person,  although  the  two  have  no  fixed  existence 
for  each  other  except  as  owners.  Their  implicit  identity  becomes 
realized  through  a transference  of  property  by  mutual  consent, 
and  with  the  preservation  of  their  rights.  This  is  contract. 

(c)  The  will  in  its  reference  to  itself,  as  in  (a),  may  be  at  vari- 
ance not  with  some  other  person,  {b),  but  within  itself.  As  a par- 
ticular will  it  may  differ  from  and  be  in  opposition  to  its  true  and 
absolute  self.  • This  is  wrong  and  crime. 


SECOND  PART.  MORALITY 

105.  The  moral  standpoint  is  the  standpoint  of  the  will,  not  in 
its  abstract  or  implicit  existence,  but  in  its  existence  for  itself,  an 
existence  which  is  infinite  (§  104).  This  turning  back  of  the  will 
upon  itself,  or  its  actual  self-identity,  with  its  associated  phases 
stands  in  contrast  to  its  abstract  implicit  existence,  and  converts 
person  into  subject. 

106.  Subjectivity  is  the  conception  made  definite,  differing 
therefore  from  the  abstract,  general  will.  Further,  the  will  of  the 
subject,  though  it  still  retains  traces  of  self-involved  simplicity, 
is  the  will  of  an  individual,  who  is  an  object  for  himself.  Hence 
subjectivity  is  the  realization  of  the  conception.  — This  gives 
freedom  a higher  ground.  Now  at  last  there  appears  in  the  idea 
the  side  of  its  real  existence,  the  subjectivity  of  the  will.  It  is  only 
in  the  will  as  subjective  that  freedom,  or  the  potentially  existing 
will,  can  be  actualized. 

Note.  — Morality,  the  second  sphere,  gives  an  outline  of  the 


6oo 


GEORG  WILHELM  FR.  HEGEL 


real  side  of  the  conception  of  freedom.  Observe  the  process 
through  which  morality  passes.  As  the  will  has  now  withdrawn 
into  itself,  it  appears  at  the  outset  as  existing  independently,  hav- 
ing merely  a potential  identity  with  the  intrinsic  or  universal  will. 
Then  this  abstract  self-dependence  is  superseded;  and,  finally, 
the  will  is  made  really  and  consciously  identical  with  the  intrinsic 
or  universal  will.  Now  in  this  movement,  as  I have  said,  is  illus- 
trated the  conception  of  freedom.  Freedom  or  subjectivity  is  at 
first  abstract  and  distinct  from  the  conception  of  it.  Then  by 
means  of  this  movement  the  soul  of  freedom  is  so  worked  up,  that 
for  the  conception,  and  necessarily  also  for  the  idea,  it  receives 
its  true  realization.  The  process  ends,  therefore,  when  the  sub- 
jective will  has  become  an  objective  and  truly  concrete  will. 

Addition.  — In  right,  taken  strictly,  nothing  depends  upon  my 
purpose  or  intention.  The  c^uestion  of  the  self-determination, 
impulse,  or  purpose  of  the  will  arises  for  the  first  time  in  morality. 
Since  a man  is  to  be  judged  according  to  the  direction  he  has 
given  himself,  he  is  in  this  act  free,  let  the  external  features  of 
the  act  be  what  they  may.  As  no  one  can  successfully  assail  a 
man’s  inner  conviction,  and  no  force  can  reach  it,  the  moral  will 
is  inaccessible.  A man’s  worth  is  estimated  by  his  inner  act. 
Hence  the  moral  standpoint  implies  the  realization  of  freedom. 

107.  As  self-determination  of  will  is  at  the  same  time  a factor 
of  the  will’s  conception,  subjectivity  is  not  merely  the  outward 
reality  of  will,  but  its  inner  being  (§  104).  This  free  and  inde- 
pendent will,  having  now  become  the  will  of  a subject,  and  as- 
suming in  the  first  instance  the  form  of  the  conception,  has  itself 
a visible  realization ; otherwise  it  could  not  attain  to  the  idea.  The 
moral  standpoint  is  in  its  realized  form  the  right  of  the  subjective 
will.  In  accordance  with  this  right  the  will  recognizes  and  is  a 
thing,  only  in  so  far  as  the  thing  is  the  will’s  own,  and  the  will  in 
it  is  itself  and  subjective. 

Note.  — The  process  of  the  moral  standpoint  {Note  to  preced- 
ing paragraph)  also  appears  as  the  development  of  the  right  of 
the  subjective  will,  or  of  the  way  in  which  the  subjective  will  is 
realized.  Thus  the  will  accounts  what  in  its  object  it  recognizes  to 
be  its  owm  as  its  true  conception,  its  objective  or  universal  reality. 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  RIGHT 


6oi 


Addition.  — Subjectivity  of  will,  as  a complete  phase,  is  in  its 
turn  a whole  which,  by  its  very  nature,  must  also  have  objectivity. 
Freedom  can  at  first  realize  itself  only  in  the  subject,  as  it  is  the 
true  material  for  this  realization.  But  this  concrete  manifestation 
■ of  will,  which  we  have  called  subjectivity,  is  different  from  abso- 
lute will.  From  this  new  one-sidedness  of  subjectivity  must  the 
will  free  itself,  in  order  that  it  may  become  absolute  will.  In 
morality  the  interest  peculiar  to  man  is  in  question,  and  the  high 
value  of  this  interest  consists  in  man’s  knowing  himself  to  be  ab- 
solute, and  determining  himself.  Uncivilized  man  is  controlled 
by  the  forces  and  occurrences  of  nature.  Children  have  no  moral 
will,  but  are  guided  by  their  parents.  Civilized  man  is  determined 
from  within,  and  wills  that  he  shall  be  in  all  he  does. 

io8.  The  subjective  will,  in  so  far  as  it  is  directly  its  own  object 
and  distinct  from  the  general  will  (§  io6,  note),  is  abstract,  lim- 
ited, and  formal.  Subjectivity,  however,  is  not  formal  merely,  but, 
since  it  is  the  infinite  self-direction  of  the  will,  is  the  will  itself 
taken  formally.  Since  this  formal  character,  as  it  appears  first  of 
all  in  the  particular  will,  is  not  as  yet  identical  with  the  conception 
of  will,  the  moral  standpoint  is  the  standpoint  of  relation,  of  obli- 
gation or  requirement.  — Since,  too,  subjectivity  involves  differ- 
ence, that  is  to  say,  opposition  to  objectivity  as  to  a mere  external 
existence,  there  arises  here  also  the  standpoint  of  consciousness 
(§8),  the  standpoint  of  difference  in  general,  of  the  finite  and 
phenomenal  phase  of  the  will. 

Note.  — The  moral  is  not  at  once  opposed  to  the  immoral,  just 
as  right  is  not  directly  opposed  to  wrong.  The  general  standpoint 
of  both  the  moral  and  the  immoral  depends  upon  the  subjectivity 
of  the  will. 

Addition.  — In  morality  self-determination  is  to  be  construed 
as  a restless  activity,  which  cannot  be  satisfied  with  anything  that 
is.  Only  in  the  region  of  established  ethical  principles  is  the  will 
identical  with  the  conception  of  it,  and  has  only  this  conception 
for  its  content.  In  morality  the  will  is  as  yet  related  to  what  is 
potential.  This  is  the  standpoint  of  difference,  and  the  process 
of  this  standpoint  is  the  identification  of  the  subjective  will  with 
the  conception  of  will.  The  imperative  or  ought,  which,  therefore. 


602 


GEORG  WILHELM  FR.  HEGEL 


still  is  in  morality,  is  fulfilled  only  in  the  ethical  sphere.  This 
sphere,  to  which  the  subjective  will  is  related,  has  a twofold  na- 
ture. It  is  the  substance  of  the  conception,  and  also  external  real- 
ity. If  the  good  were  established  in  the  subjective  will,  it  would 
not  yet  be  realized. 

109.  The  formal  will,  by  its  own  determining  character,  con- 
tains at  the  outset  the  opposition  of  subjectivity  and  objectivity, 
and  the  appropriate  activity  (§8).  Of  this  will  we  have  these 
further  phases.  Concrete  realization  and  determinate  character 
are  in  the  conception  identical.  The  conception  of  the  subjective 
will  is  first  to  make  these  two  phases  separate  and  independent, 
and  then  to  establish  them  as  identical.  Determinate  character  in 
the  self-determined  will  (a)  is  brought  about  in  itself  by  itself, 
the  opposition  which  it  creates  within  itself  being  a self-bestowed 
content.  This  is  the  first  negation,  whose  formal  limit  consists  in 
its  being  fixed  as  merely  subjective.  (j8)  Since  the  will  returns  into 
itself  and  is  infinite,  this  limit  exists  for  it,  and  it  wills  to  tran- 
scend the  limitation.  Hence  it  strives  to  convert  its  content  out 
of  subjectivity  into  objectivity,  i.  e.,  some  kind  of  directly  given 
reality,  (y)  The  simple  identity  of  the  will  with  itself  in  th.is 
opposition  is  the  content,  which  maintains  itself  amid  these  oppo- 
sitions, and  is  indifferent  to  formal  distinctions.  This  content  is 
the  purpose  or  end. 

I TO.  As  at  the  moral  standpoint,  freedom  or  self-identity  of 
will  is  for  the  will  (§  105),  the  simple  identity  of  the  content  or 
end  receives  a further  characteristic  peculiar  to  itself. 

(a)  This  content  becomes  mine  in  such  a way  that  it  in  its 
identity  is  not  only  my  inner  end,  but  also,  so  far  as  it  is  externally 
realized,  contains  for  me  my  subjectivity. 

Addition.  — The  content  of  the  subjective  or  moral  will  has  a 
special  character.  Although  it  has  attained  the  form  of  objectiv- 
ity, it  is  yet  always  to  contain  my  subjectivity.  An  act  shall  be 
counted  mine  only  so  far  as  it  is  on  its  inner  side  issued  by  me, 
and  was  my  own  proposition  and  intention.  I do  not  recognize  as 
mine  anything  in  the  outward  act  except  what  lay  in  my  subjective 
will,  and  in  the  outer  act  I desire  to  see  my  subjective  conscious- 
ness repeated. 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  RIGHT 


603 

111.  (b)  The  content,  though  it  contains  something  particular, 
from  whatever  source  it  comes,  is  yet  the  content  of  a self-referring 
will,  which  is  also  self-identical  and  universal.  Thus  it  has  these 
two  features,  (a)  It  aims  to  be  in  itself  adequate  to  the  universal 
will,  or  to  have  the  objectivity  of  the  conception ; (/3)  yet,  since  the 
subjective  will  exists  for  itself,  and  is  therefore  independent  and 
formal  (§  108),  its  aim  is  only  an  ought  and  is  possibly  not  ade- 
quate to  the  conception. 

1 12.  (c)  Though  I preserve  my  subjectivity  in  accomplishing 
my  ends  (§  no),  yet  in  the  objectification  of  these  ends  I pass 
beyond  the  simple  and  elementary  subjectivity  which  is  merely 
my  own.  This  new  external  subjectivity,  which  is  identical  with 
me,  is  the  will  of  others.  The  sphere  for  the  existence  of  the  will 
is  subjectivity,  and  the  will  of  others  is  the  existence,  which, 
though  other  than  I,  I yet  give  to  my  purpose.  Hence  the  accom- 
plishment of  my  purpose  contains  the  identity  of  my  will  and  that 
of  others,  and  has  to  the  will  of  others  a relation  which  is  positive. 

Note.  — The  objectivity  of  the  realized  end  has  three  senses, 
or  rather  contains  in  union  the  three  following  phases,  (a)  It  is 
external  direct  reality  (§  109).  (/3)  It  is  adequate  to  the  concep- 
tions (§112).  (y)  It  is  universal  subjectivity.  The  subjectivity 
which  preserves  itself  in  this  objectivity  implies  (a)  that  the  ob- 
jective end  shall  be  my  own,  so  that  in  it  I preserve  myself  as  a 
particular  individual  (§110).  The  two  phases  (/?)  and  (y)  of  sub- 
jectivity concur  with  the  phases  (/?)  and  (y)  of  objectivity.  At  the 
moral  standpoint  these  various  phases  are  distinguished  or  joined 
merely  in  a contradiction.  This  is  the  superficial  and  finite  na- 
ture of  the  moral  sphere  (§  108).  The  development  of  the  stand- 
point consists  in  the  development  of  these  contradictions  and 
their  solution,  an  achievement  which  at  the  present  point  of  view 
is  incomplete  or  merely  relative. 

Addition.  — It  was  said  that  formal  right  contained  only  pro- 
hibitions, and  that  from  the  strict  standpoint  of  legal  right  an  act 
had  only  a negative  reference  to  the  will  of  others.  In  morals,  on 
the  contrary,  the  relation  of  my  will  to  that  of  others  is  positive; 
that,  which  the  subjective  will  realizes,  contains  the  universal 
will.  In  this  is  present  the  production  or  alteration  of  some  visible 


6o4  GEORG  WILHELM  FR.  HEGEL 

reality,  and  this  has  a bearing  upon  the  will  of  others.  The  con- 
ception of  morality  is  the  internal  relation  of  the  will  to  itself.  But 
there  is  here  more  than  one  will,  since  the  objectification  of  the 
will  implies  the  transcendence  of  the  one-sidedness  of  the  separate 
will,  and  the  substitution  of  two  wills  having  a positive  relation 
one  to  the  other.  In  right  my  will  is  realized  in  property,  and 
there  is  no  room  for  any  reference  of  the  will  of  others  to  my  will. 
But  morality  treats  of  the  well-being  of  others  also.  At  this  point 
this  positive  relation  to  others  first  makes  its  appearance. 

1 13.  The  expression  of  the  subjective  or  moral  will  is  action. 
Of  action  it  may  be  said  that  (a)  I know  its  external  fulfilment  to 
be  mine,  {13)  it  is  essentially  related  to  the  conception  in  its  phase 
as  the  ought  or  imperative,  and  (y)  it  is  essentially  connected  with 
the  will  of  others. 

Note.  — Firstly,  the  expression  of  the  moral  will  is  action.  The 
embodiment  achieved  by  the  will  in  formal  right  is  a mere  object. 
This  realization  is  direct,  and  has  in  the  first  instance  no  actual 
express  reference  to  the  conception.  Not  having  as  yet  come  into 
conflict  with  the  subjective  will,  the  conception  is  not  yet  distin- 
guished from  it,  and  has  no  positive  relation  to  the  will  of  others. 
The  commands  of  right  are,  hence,  fundamentally  prohibitions 
(§  38).  In  contract  and  wrong,  indeed,  there  begins  to  be  seen 
a relation  to  the  will  of  others,  but  the  agreement,  found  at  this 
point,  is  based  upon  arbitrary  choice,  while  the  essential  reference 
to  the  will  of  others  is  in  right  merely  the  negative  proposal  to  keep 
my  property  or  its  value,  and  to  let  others  keep  theirs.  Crime 
does  in  a way  issue  from  the  subjective  will.  But  the  content  of 
a crime  is  fixed  by  written  instructions  and  is  not  directly  imputa- 
ble to  me.  Hence  as  the  legal  act  contains  only  some  elements  of 
a distinctively  moral  act,  the  two  kinds  of  action  are  different. 

1 14.  The  right  of  the  moral  will  has  three  factors: 

(a)  The  abstract  or  formal  right.  The  act,  as  directly  realized, 
is  to  be  in  its  essential  content  mine,  and  embody  the  purpose  of 
the  subjective  will. 

(b)  The  specific  side  of  an  act  or  its  inner  content.  («)  This 
is  intention,  which  is  for  me,  whose  general  character  is  fixed,  the 
value  and  inner  substance  of  the  act,  (/3)  and  W'ell-being,  or  the 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  RIGHT  605 

content  taken  as  the  particular  end  of  my  particular,  subjective 
reality. 

(c)  The  good,  or  the  content  taken  as  universal  and  exalted  to 
universality  and  absolute  objectivity.  This  is  the  absolute  end  of 
the  will.  As  this  is  the  sphere  of  reflection,  we  have  the  opposition 
of  the  universality,  which  is  subjective,  and  hence  involves  in  one 
aspect  evil,  and  in  another  conscience. 

Addition.  — An  act,  to  be  moral,  must  in  the  first  instance 
accord  with  my  purpose,  since  the  right  of  the  moral  will  is  to  re- 
cognize as  its  realization  nothing  which  is  not  found  internally 
in  the  purpose.  Purpose  concerns  the  formal  principle  that  the 
externalized  will  must  also  be  internal  to  me.  In  the  next  place 
we  ask  after  the  intention,  that  is,  the  value  of  the  act  relatively 
to  me.  The  third  factor  is  not  merely  the  relative,  but  the  univer- 
sal value  of  the  act,  the  good.  In  the  first  phase  of  an  act  there  is 
a breach  between  purpose  and  realization ; in  the  second  between 
what  is  given  externally  as  universal  will,  and  the  particular  in- 
ternal character,  which  I give  it;  the  third  and  last  phase  is  the 
claim  of  my  intention  to  be  the  universal  content.  The  good  is 
the  intention  exalted  to  the  conception  of  the  will. 


THIRD  PART.  THE  ETHICAL  SYSTEM 

142.  The  ethical  system  is  the  idea  of  freedom.  It  is  the  liv- 
ing good,  which  has  in  self-consciousness  its  knowing  and  willing, 
and  through  the  action  of  self-consciousness  its  actuality.  Self- 
consciousness,  on  the  other  hand,  finds  in  the  ethical  system  its 
absolute  basis  and  motive.  The  ethical  system  is  thus  the  concep- 
tion of  freedom  developed  into  a present  world,  and  also  into  the 
nature  of  self-consciousness. 

143.  The  conception  of  the  will,  when  united  with  the  realiza- 
tion of  the  will,  or  the  particular  will,  is  knowing.  Hence  arises 
the  consciousness  of  the  distinction  between  these  two  phases  of 
the  idea.  But  the  consciousness  is  now  present  in  such  a way  that 


6o6 


GEORG  WILHELM  FR.  HEGEL 


each  phase  is  separately  the  totality  of  the  idea,  and  has  the  idea 
as  its  content  and  foundation. 

144.  The  objective  ethical  principle  which  takes  the  place  of 
the  abstract  good  is  in  its  substance  concrete  through  the  presence 
in  it  of  subjectivity  as  its  infinite  form.  Hence  it  makes  differences 
which  are  within  itself,  and  therefore  are  due  to  the  conception. 
By  means  of  these  differences,  it  obtains  a sure  content,  which  is 
independent  and  necessary,  and  reaches  a standing  ground  raised 
above  subjective  opinion  and  liking.  This  content  is  the  self- 
originated  and  self-referring  laws  and  regulations. 

Addition.  — In  the  ethical  principle  as  a whole  occur  both  the 
objective  and  the  subjective  elements;  but  of  this  principle  each 
is  only  a form.  Here  the  good  is  substance,  or  the  filling  of  the 
objective  with  subjectivity.  If  we  contemplate  the  social  order 
from  the  objective  standpoint,  we  can  say  that  man,  as  ethical,  is 
unconscious  of  himself.  In  this  sense  Antigone  proclaims  that  no 
one  knows  whence  the  laws  come;  they  are  everlasting,  that  is, 
they  exist  absolutely,  and  flow  from  the  nature  of  things.  None 
the  less  has  this  substantive  existence  a consciousness  also,  which, 
however,  is  only  one  element  of  the  whole. 

145.  The  ethical  material  is  rational,  because  it  is  the  system 
of  these  phases  of  the  idea.  Thus  freedom,  the  absolute  will,  the 
objective,  and  the  circle  of  necessity,  are  all  one  principle,  whose 
elements  are  the  ethical  forces.  They  rule  the  lives  of  individuals 
as  their  modes  have  their  shape,  manifestation,  and  actuality. 

Addition.  — Since  the  phases  of  the  ethical  system  are  the  con- 
ception of  freedom,  they  are  the  substance  or  universal  essence  of 
individuals.  In  relation  to  it,  individuals  are  merely  accidental. 
Whether  the  individual  exists  or  not  is  a matter  of  indifference 
to  the  objective  ethical  order,  which  alone  is  steadfast.  It  is  the 
power  by  which  the  life  of  individuals  is  ruled.  It  has  been  repre- 
sented by  nations  as  eternal  justice,  or  as  deities  who  are  absolute, 
in  contrast  with  whom  the  striving  of  individuals  is  an  empty 
game,  like  the  tossing  of  the  sea. 

146.  (/S)  This  ethical  reality  in  its  actual  self-consciousness 
knows  itself,  and  is  therefore  an  object  of  knowledge.  It,  with  its 
laws  and  forces,  has  for  the  subject  a real  existence,  and  is  in  the 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  RIGHT  607 

fullest  sense  independent.  It  has  an  absolute  authority  or  force, 
infinitely  more  sure  than  that  of  natural  objects. 

Note.  — The  sun,  moon,  mountains,  rivers,  and  all  objects  of 
nature  doubtless  exist.  They  not  only  have  for  consciousness  the 
authority  of  existence  in  general,  but  have  also  a particular  na- 
ture. This  nature  consciousness  regards  as  valid,  and  in  its  varied 
relation  and  commerce  with  objects  and  their  use  comports  itself 
accordingly.  But  the  authority  of  the  social  laws  is  infinitely 
higher,  because  natural  things  represent  reason  only  in  a quite 
external  and  particular  way,  and  hide  it  under  the  guise  of  con- 
tingency. 

147.  On  the  other  hand,  the  various  social  forces  are  not  some- 
thing foreign  to  the  subject.  His  spirit  bears  witness  to  them  as 
to  his  own  being.  In  them  he  feels  that  he  is  himself,  and  in  them, 
too,  he  lives  as  in  an  element  indistinguishable  from  himself. 
This  relation  is  more  direct  and  intuitive  than  even  faith  or  trust. 

Note.  — Faith  and  trust  belong  to  the  beginning  of  reflection, 
presupposing  picture  thought  and  such  discernment  as  that  to 
believe  in  a heathen  religion  is  different  from  being  a heathen. 
The  relation,  or  rather  identity  without  relation,  in  which  the 
ethical  principle  is  the  actual  life  of  self-consciousness,  can  indeed 
be  transformed  into  a relation  of  faith  and  conviction.  By  further 
reflection,  also,  it  may  pass  into  an  insight  based  on  reasons, 
which  originate  in  some  particular  end,  interest,  or  regard,  in 
fear  or  hope,  or  in  historical  presuppositions.  But  the  adequate 
knowledge  of  these  belongs  to  the  conception  arrived  at  through 
thought. 

148.  The  individual  may  distinguish  himself  from  these  sub- 
stantive ethical  factors,  regarding  himself  as  subjective,  as  of 
himself  imdetermined,  or  as  determined  to  some  particular  course 
of  action.  He  stands  to  them  as  to  his  substantive  reality,  and 
they  are  duties  binding  upon  his  will. 

Note.  — The  ethical  theory  of  duties  in  their  objective  char- 
acter is  not  comprised  under  the  empty  principle  of  moral  sub- 
jectivity, in  which  indeed,  nothing  is  determined  (§  134),  but  is 
rightly  taken  up  in  the  third  part  of  our  work,  in  which  is  found 
a systematic  development  of  the  sphere  of  ethical  necessity.  In 


6o8 


GEORG  WILHELM  FR.  HEGEL 


this  present  method  of  treatment,  as  distinguished  from  a theory 
of  duties,  the  ethical  factors  are  deduced  as  necessary  relations. 
It  is,  then,  needless  to  add,  with  regard  to  each  of  them,  the  re- 
mark that  it  is  thus  for  men  a duty.  A theory  of  duties,  so  far  as 
it  is  not  a philosophic  science,  simply  takes  its  material  out  of  the 
relations  at  hand,  and  shows  how  it  is  connected  with  personal 
ideas,  with  widely  prevalent  principles  and  thoughts,  with  ends, 
impulses,  and  experiences.  It  may  also  adduce  as  reasons  the 
consequences,  which  arise  when  each  duty  is  referred  to  other 
ethical  relations,  as  well  as  to  general  well-being  and  common 
opinion.  But  a theory  of  duties,  which  keeps  to  the  logical  settle- 
ment of  its  own  inherent  material,  must  be  the  development  of 
the  relations,  which  are  made  necessary  through  the  idea  of 
freedom,  and  are  hence  in  their  entire  context  actual.  This  is 
found  only  in  the  state. 

149.  A duty  or  obligation  appears  as  a limitation  merely  of 
undetermined  subjectivity  and  abstract  freedom,  or  of  the  im- 
pulse of  the  natural  will,  or  of  the  moral  will  which  fixes  upon  its 
undetermined  good  capriciously.  But  in  point  of  fact  the  indi- 
vidual finds  in  duty  liberation.  He  is  freed  from  subjection  to 
mere  natural  impulse;  he  is  freed  from  the  dependence  which  he 
as  subjective  and  particular  felt  towards  moral  permission  and 
command;  he  is  freed,  also,  from  that  indefinite  subjectivity, 
which  does  not  issue  in  the  objective  realization  implied  in  action, 
but  remains  WTapped  up  in  its  own  unreality.  In  duty  the  indi- 
vidual freely  enters  upon  a liberty  that  is  substantive. 

Addition.  — Duty  limits  only  the  caprice  of  subjectivity,  and 
comes  into  collision  only  with  abstract  good,  with  which  subjec- 
tivity is  so  firmly  allied.  When  men  say  we  will  to  be  free,  they 
have  in  mind  simply  that  abstract  liberty,  of  which  every  definite 
organization  in  the  state  is  regarded  as  a limitation.  But  duty  is 
not  a limitation  of  freedom,  but  only  of  the  abstraction  of  freedom, 
that  is  to  say,  of  servitude.  In  duty  we  reach  the  real  essence,  and 
gain  positive  freedom. 


152.  Substantive  ethical  reality  attains  its  right,  and  this  right 
receives  its  due,  wTen  the  individual  in  his  private  will  and  con- 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  RIGHT 


6og 

science  drops  his  self-assertion  and  antagonism  to  the  ethical. 
His  character,  moulded  by  ethical  principles,  takes  as  its  motive 
the  unmoved  universal,  which  is  open  on  all  its  sides  to  actual 
rationality.  He  recognizes  that  his  worth  and  the  stability  of  his 
private  ends  are  grounded  upon  the  universal,  and  derive  their 
reality  from  it.  Subjectivity  is  the  absolute  form  and  the  existing 
actuality  of  the  substance.  The  difference  between  the  subject 
and  substance,  as  the  object,  end,  and  power  of  the  subject, 
forthwith  vanishes,  like  the  difference  between  form  and  matter. 

Note.  — Subjectivity,  which  is  the  foundation  for  the  real 
existence  of  the  conception  of  freedom  (§  ic6),  is  at  the  moral 
standpoint  still  distinguished  from  the  conception.  In  ethics  it  is 
adequate  to  the  conception,  whose  existence  it  is. 

153.  In  that  individuals  belong  to  the  ethical  and  social  fabric 
they  have  a right  to  determine  themselves  subjectively  and  freely. 
Assurance  of  their  freedom  has  its  truth  in  the  objectivity  of 
ethical  observance,  in  which  they  realize  their  own  peculiar  being 
and  inner  universality  (§  147). 

Note.  — To  a father  seeking  the  best  way  to  bring  up  his  son, 
a Pythagorean,  or  some  other  thinker,  replied,  “Make  him  a 
citizen  of  a state  which  has  good  laws.” 

Addition.  — The  attempts  of  speculative  educators  to  with- 
draw people  from  their  present  social  life  and  bring  them  up  in 
the  country,  a proposal  made  by  Rousseau  in  “Emile,”  have 
been  vain,  because  no  one  can  succeed  in  alienating  man  from 
the  laws  of  the  world.  Although  the  education  of  young  men 
must  take  place  in  solitude,  we  cannot  believe  that  the  odour  of 
the  world  of  spirits  does  not  in  the  end  penetrate  their  seclusion, 
or  that  the  power  of  the  spirit  of  the  world  is  too  feeble  to  take 
possession  of  even  the  remotest  corner.  Only  when  the  individual 
is  a citizen  of  a good  state,  does  he  receive  his  right. 

154.  The  right  of  individuals  to  their  particularity  is  contained 
in  the  concrete  ethical  order,  because  it  is  in  particularity  that  the 
social  principle  finds  a visible  outer  manifestation. 

155.  Right  and  duty  coincide  in  the  identity  of  the  universal 
and  the  particular  wills.  By  virtue  of  the  ethical  fabric  man  has 
rights,  so  far  as  he  has  duties,  and  duties  so  far  as  he  has  rights. 


6io  GEORG  WILHELM  FR.  HEGEL 

In  abstract  right,  on  the  contrary,  I have  the  right  and  another 
person  the  corresponding  duty ; and  in  morals  I resolve  to  consider 
as  an  objective  duty  only  the  right  of  my  own  knowledge  and  will 
and  of  my  own  well-being. 

Addition.  — The  slave  can  have  no  duties,  but  only  the  free 
man.  If  all  rights  were  on  one  side  and  all  duties  on  the  other, 
the  whole  would  be  broken  up.  Identity  is  the  only  principle  to 
which  we  must  now  adhere. 

156.  The  ethical  substance,  as  the  union  of  self-consciousness 
with  its  conception,  is  the  actual  spirit  of  a family  and  a nation. 

Addition.  — The  ethical  framework  is  not  abstract  like  the 
good,  but  in  a special  sense  real.  Spirit  has  actuality,  and  the 
accidents  or  modes  of  this  actuality  are  individuals.  Hence  as  to 
the  ethical  there  are  only  two  possible  views.  Either  we  start 
from  the  substantive  social  system,  or  we  proceed  atomically  and 
work  up  from  a basis  of  individuality.  This  latter  method,  be- 
cause it  leads  to  mere  juxtaposition,  is  void  of  spirit,  since  mind 
or  spirit  is  not  something  individual,  but  the  unity  of  individual 
and  universal. 

157.  The  conception  of  this  idea  exists  only  as  spirit,  as  active 
self-knowledge  and  reality,  since  it  objectifies  itself  by  passing 
through  the  form  of  its  elements.  Hence  it  is, 

A.  The  direct  or  natural  ethical  spirit,  the  family.  This  reality, 
losing  its  unity,  passes  over  into  dismemberment,  and  assumes 
the  nature  of  the  relative.  It  thus  becomes 

B.  The  civic  community,  an  association  of  members  or  inde- 
pendent individuals  in  a formal  universality.  Such  an  association 
is  occasioned  by  needs,  and  is  preserved  by  the  law,  which  secures 
one’s  person  and  property,  and  by  an  external  system  for  private 
and  common  interests. 

C.  This  external  state  goes  back  to,  and  finds  its  central  prin- 
ciple in,  the  end  and  actuality  of  the  substantive  universal,  and 
of  the  public  life  dedicated  to  the  maintenance  of  the  universal. 
This  is  the  state-constitution. 


ARTHUR  SCHOPENHAUER 

( 1788-1860) 

THE  WORLD  AS  WILL  AND  IDEA 

Translated  from  the  German  * by 
R.  B.  HALDANE  AND  J.  KEMP 

BOOK  IF.  THE  JSSERTION  AND  DENIAL  OF 
THE  WILL 

§ 57.  At  every  grade  that  is  enlightened  by  knowledge,  the 
will  appears  as  an  individual.  The  human  individual  finds  him- 
self as  finite  in  infinite  space  and  time,  and  consequently  as  a 
vanishing  quantity  compared  with  them.  He  is  projected  into 
them,  and,  on  account  of  their  unlimited  nature,  he  has  always  a 
merely  relative,  never  absolute  when  and  where  of  his  existence ; 
for  his  place  and  duration  are  finite  parts  of  what  is  infinite  and 
boundless.  His  real  existence  is  only  in  the  present,  whose  un- 
checked flight  into  the  past  is  a constant  transition  into  death,  a 
constant  dying.  For  his  past  life,  apart  from  its  possible  conse- 
quences for  the  present,  and  the  testimony  regarding  the  will  that 
is  expressed  in  it,  is  now  entirely  done  with,  dead,  and  no  longer 
anything;  and,  therefore,  it  must  be,  as  a matter  of  reason, 
indifferent  to  him  whether  the  content  of  that  past  was  pain 
or  pleasure.  But  the  present  is  always  passing  through  his 
hands  into  the  past;  the  future  is  quite  uncertain  and  always 
short.  Thus  his  existence,  even  when  we  consider  only  its  formal 
side,  is  a constant  hurrying  of  the  present  into  the  dead  past,  a 
constant  dying.  But  if  we  look  at  it  from  the  physical  side,  it  is 
clear  that,  as  our  walking  is  admittedly  merely  a constantly  pre- 
vented falling,  the  life  of  our  body  is  only  a constantly  prevented 
dying,  an  ever- postponed  death;  finally,  in  the  same  way,  the 

* From  Welt  als  Wille  nnd  Vorstellung,'L,elv^z\^,  1819;  3-  Aufl.  l8i;o.  Re- 
printed here  from  A.  Schopenhauer’s  The  World  as  Will  and  Idea,  translated  by 
R.  B.  Haldane  and  J.  Kemp,  London,  Triibner  & Co.,  1885,  vol.  i. 


6i2 


ARTHUR  SCHOPENHAUER 


activity  of  our  mind  is  a constantly  deferred  ennui.  Every  breath 
we  draw  wards  off  the  death  that  is  constantly  intruding  upon  us. 
In  this  way  we  fight  with  it  every  moment,  and  again,  at  longer 
intervals,  through  every  meal  we  eat,  every  sleep  we  take,  every 
time  we  warm  ourselves,  etc.  In  the  end,  death  must  conquer,  for 
we  became  subject  to  him  through  birth,  and  he  only  plays  for  a 
little  while  with  his  prey  before  he  swallows  it  up.  We  pursue  our 
life,  however,  with  great  interest  and  much  solicitude  as  long  as 
possible,  as  we  blow  out  a soap-bubble  as  long  and  as  large  as 
possible,  although  we  know  perfectly  well  that  it  will  burst. 

We  saw  that  the  inner  being  of  unconscious  nature  is  a constant 
striving  without  end  and  without  rest.  And  this  appears  to  us 
much  more  distinctly  when  we  consider  the  nature  of  brutes  and 
man.  Willing  and  striving  is  its  whole  being,  which  may  be  very 
well  compared  to  an  unquenchable  thirst.  But  the  basis  of  all 
willing  is  need,  deficiency,  and  thus  pain.  Consequently,  the 
nature  of  brutes  and  man  is  subject  to  pain  originally  and  through 
its  very  being.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  it  lacks  objects  of  desire, 
because  it  is  at  once  deprived  of  them  by  a too  easy  satisfaction,  a 
terrible  void  and  ennui  comes  over  it,  i.  e.,  its  being  and  existence 
itself  becomes  an  unbearable  burden  to  it.  Thus  its  life  swings 
like  a pendulum  backwards  and  forwards  between  pain  and 
ennui.  This  has  also  had  to  express  itself  very  oddly  in  this 
way;  after  man  had  transferred  all  pain  and  torments  to  hell, 
there  then  remained  nothing  over  for  heaven  but  ennui. 

But  the  constant  striving  which  constitutes  the  inner  nature  of 
every  manifestation  of  will  obtains  its  primary  and  most  general 
foundation  at  the  higher  grades  of  objectification,  from  the  fact 
that  here  the  will  manifests  itself  as  a living  body,  with  the  iron 
command  to  nourish  it;  and  what  gives  strength  to  this  command 
is  just  that  this  body  is  nothing  but  the  objectified  will  to  live 
itself.  Man,  as  the  most  complete  objectification  of  that  will,  is 
in  like  measure  also  the  most  necessitous  of  all  beings:  he  is 
through  and  through  concrete  willing  and  needing;  he  is  a con- 
cretion of  a thousand  necessities.  With  these  he  stands  upon  the 
earth,  left  to  himself,  uncertain  about  everything  except  his  own 
need  and  misery.  Consequently  the  care  for  the  maintenance  of 


THE  WORLD  AS  WILL  AND  IDEA  613 

that  existence  under  exacting  demands,  which  are  renewed  every 
day,  occupies,  as  a rule,  the  whole  of  human  life.  To  this  is  di- 
rectly related  the  second  claim,  that  of  the  propagation  of  the  spe- 
cies. At  the  same  time  he  is  threatened  from  all  sides  by  the  most 
different  kinds  of  dangers,  from  which  it  requires  constant  watch- 
fulness to  escape.  With  cautious  steps  and  casting  anxious  glances 
round  him  he  pursues  his  path,  for  a thousand  accidents  and  a 
thousand  enemies  lie  in  wait  for  him.  Thus  he  went  while  yet  a 
savage,  thus  he  goes  in  civilized  life ; there  is  no  security  for  him. 

Qualibus  in  tenehris  vitae,  quantisque  periclis 

Degitur  hocc'  aevi,  quodcnnque  esll  (Lucr.  ii.  15.) 

The  life  of  the  great  majority  is  only  a constant  struggle  for  this 
existence  itself,  with  the  certainty  of  losing  it  at  last.  But  what  ^ 
enables  them  to  endure  this  wearisome  battle  is  not  so  much  the 
love  of  life  as  the  fear  of  death,  which  yet  stands  in  the  back- 
ground as  inevitable,  and  may  come  upon  them  at  any  moment. 
Life  itself  is  a sea,  full  of  rocks  and  whirlpools,  which  man  avoids 
with  the  greatest  care  and  solicitude,  although  he  knows  that 
even  if  he  succeeds  in  getting  through  with  all  his  efforts  and 
skill,  he  yet  by  doing  so  comes  nearer  at  every  step  to  the  great- 
est, the  total,  inevitable,  and  irremediable  shipwreck,  death;  nay, 
even  steers  right  upon  it : this  is  the  final  goal  of  the  laborious 
voyage,  and  worse  for  him  than  all  the  rocks  from  which  he  has 
escaped. 

Now  it  is  well  worth  observing  that,  on  the  one  hand,  the  suf- 
fering and  misery  of  life  may  easily  increase  to  such  an  extent 
that  death  itself,  in  the  flight  from  which  the  whole  of  life  con- 
sists, becomes  desirable,  and  we  hasten  towards  it  voluntarily; 
and  again,  on  the  other  hand,  that  as  soon  as  want  and  suffering 
permit  rest  to  a man,  ennui  is  at  once  so  near  that  he  necessarily 
requires  diversion.  The  striving  after  existence  is  what  occupies 
all  living  things  and  maintains  them  in  motion.  But  when  exist- 
ence is  assured,  then  they  know  not  what  to  do  with  it;  thus  the 
second  thing  that  sets  them  in  motion  is  the  effort  to  get  free  from 
the  burden  of  existence,  to  make  it  cease  to  be  felt,  “ to  kill  time,” 
i.  e.,  to  escape  from  ennui.  Accordingly  we  see  that  almost  all  men 
who  are  secure  from  w^ant  and  care,  now  that  at  last  they  have 


6i4 


ARTHUR  SCHOPENHAUER 


thrown  off  all  other  burdens,  become  a burden  to  themselves, 
and  regard  as  a gain  every  hour  they  succeed  in  getting  through, 
and  thus  every  diminution  of  the  very  life  which,  till  then,  they 
have  employed  all  their  powers  to  maintain  as  long  as  possible. 
Ennui  is  by  no  means  an  evil  to  be  lightly  esteemed ; in  the  end  it 
depicts  on  the  countenance  real  despair.  It  makes  beings  who 
love  each  other  so  little  as  men  do,  seek  each  other  eagerly,  and 
thus  becomes  the  source  of  social  intercourse.  Moreover,  even 
from  motives  of  policy,  public  precautions  are  everywhere  taken 
against  it,  as  against  other  universal  calamities.  For  this  evil  may 
drive  men  to  the  greatest  excesses,  just  as  much  as  its  opposite 
extreme,  famine : the  people  require  panem  et  circenses.  As  want 
,is  the  constant  scourge  of  the  people,  so  ennui  is  that  of  the 
fashionable  world.  In  middle-class  life  ennui  is  represented  by 
the  Sunday,  and  want  by  the  six  week-days. 

Thus  between  desiring  and  attaining  all  human  life  flows  on 
throughout.  The  wish  is,  in  its  nature,  pain ; the  attainment  soon 
begets  satiety : the  end  was  only  apparent ; possession  takes  away 
the  charm;  the  wish,  the  need,  presents  itself  under  a new  form; 
when  it  does  not,  then  follows  desolateness,  emptiness,  ennui, 
against  which  the  conflict  is  just  as  painful  as  against  want. 
That  wish  and  satisfaction  should  follow  each  other  neither  too 
quickly  nor  too  slowly  reduces  the  suffering  which  both  occasion 
to  the  smallest  amount,  and  constitutes  the  happiest  life.  For 
that  which  we  might  otherwise  call  the  most  beautiful  part  of  life, 
its  purest  joy,  if  it  were  only  because  it  lifts  us  out  of  real  existence 
and  transforms  us  into  disinterested  spectators  of  it  — that  is, 
pure  knowledge,  which  is  foreign  to  all  willing,  the  pleasure  of 
the  beautiful,  the  true  delight  in  art  — this  is  granted  only  to  a 
very  few,  because  it  demands  rare  talents,  and  to  these  few  only 
as  a passing  dream.  And  then,  even  these  few,  on  account  of  their 
higher  intellectual  power,  are  made  susceptible  of  far  greater 
suffering  than  duller  minds  can  ever  feel,  and  are  also  placed  in 
lonely  isolation  by  a nature  which  is  obviously  different  from  that 
of  others ; thus  here  also  accounts  are  squared.  But  to  the  great 
majority  of  men  purely  intellectual  pleasures  are  not  accessible. 
They  are  almost  quite  incapable  of  the  joys  which  lie  in  pure 


\ 


i 


i 


THE  WORLD  AS  WILL  AND  IDEA  615 

knowledge.  They  are  entirely  given  up  to  willing.  If,  therefore, 
anything  is  to  win  their  sympathy,  to  be  interesting  to  them,  it 
must  (as  is  implied  in  the  meaning  of  the  w^ord)  in  some  way  ex- 
cite their  will,  even  if  it  is  only  through  a distant  and  merely 
problematical  relation  to  it ; the  will  must  not  be  left  altogether  out 
of  the  question,  for  their  existence  lies  far  more  in  willing  than  in 
knowing,  — action  and  reaction  is  their  one  element.  We  may 
find  in  trifles  and  every-day  occurrences  the  naive  expressions  of 
this  quality.  Thus,  for  example,  at  any  place  worth  seeing  they 
may  visit,  they  write  their  names,  in  order  thus  to  reacfi  to  affect 
the  place  since  it  does  not  affect  them.  Again,  when  they  see  a 
strange,  rare  animal,  they  cannot  easily  confine  themselves  to 
merely  observing  it;  they  must  rouse  it,  tease  it,  play  with  it, 
merely  to  experience  action  and  reaction ; but  this  need  for  excite- 
ment of  the  will  manifests  itself  very  specially  in  the  discovery 
and  support  of  card-playing,  which  is  quite  peculiarly  the  ex- 
pression of  the  miserable  side  of  humanity. 

But  whatever  nature  and  fortune  may  have  done,  whoever  a 
man  be  and  whatever  he  may  possess,  the  pain  which  is  essential 
to  life  cannot  be  thrown  off : Hr]X.elSr]<;  S’  w/xai^ei’,  ISuiv  els  ovpavbv 
evpvv  {P elides  autem  ejulavit,  intuitus  in  coelmn  latum) . And  again : 
Zr)v6s  p-hf  ‘Trals  Kpovwvos,  avrap  oi^vv  elgov  aTreipecri'yy  (Jovis  qui- 
dem  films  eram  Saturnii ; verum  aerumnam  liaheham  injinitam). 
The  ceaseless  efforts  to  banish  suffering  accomplish  no  more  than 
to  make  it  change  its  form.  It  is  essentially  deficiency,  want,  cafe 
for  the  maintenance  of  life.  If  we  succeed,  which  is  very  difficult, 
in  removing  pain  in  this  form,  it  immediately  assumes  a thou- 
sand others,  varying  according  to  age  and  circumstances,  such  as 
lust,  passionate  love,  jealousy,  envy,  hatred,  anxiety,  ambition, 
covetousness,  sickness,  etc.,  etc.  If  at  last  it  can  find  entrance  in 
no  other  form,  it  comes  in  the  sad,  grey  garments  of  tediousness 
and  ennui,  against  which  we  then  strive  in  various  ways.  If  finally 
we  succeed  in  driving  this  away,  we  shall  hardly  do  so  without 
letting  pain  enter  in  one  of  its  earlier  forms,  and  the  dance  begin 
again  from  the  beginning ; for  all  human  life  is  tossed  backwards 
and  forwards  between  pain  and  ennui.  Depressing  as  this  view 
of  life  is,  I will  draw  attention,  by  the  way,  to  an  aspect  of  it 


6i6 


ARTHUR  SCHOPENHAUER 


from  which  consolation  may  be  drawn,  and  perhaps  even  a sto- 
ical indifference  to  one’s  own  present  ills  may  be  attained.  For 
our  impatience  at  these  arises  for  the  most  part  from  the  fact 
that  we  regard  them  as  brought  about  by  a chain  of  causes  which 
might  easily  be  different.  We  do  not  generally  grieve  over  ills 
which  are  directly  necessary  and  quite  universal ; for  example,  the 
necessity  of  age  and  of  death,  and  many  daily  inconveniences. 
It  is  rather  the  consideration  of  the  accidental  nature  of  the 
circumstances  that  brought  some  sorrow  just  to  us,  that  gives  it 
its  sting.  But  if  we  have  recognized  that  pain,  as  such,  is  inevita- 
ble and  essential  to  life,  and  that  nothing  depends  upon  chance 
but  its  mere  fashion,  the  form  under  which  it  presents  itself,  that 
thus  our  present  sorrow  fills  a place  that,  without  it,  would  at 
once  be  occupied  by  another  which  now  is  excluded  by  it,  and 
that  therefore  fate  can  affect  us  little  in  what  is  essential;  such  a 
reflection,  if  it  were  to  become  a living  conviction,  might  produce 
a considerable  degree  of  stoical  equanimity,  and  very  much  lessen 
the  anxious  care  for  our  own  well-being.  But,  in  fact,  such  a 
powerful  control  of  reason  over  directly  felt  suffering  seldom  or 
never  occurs. 

§ 68.  If  we  compare  life  to  a course  or  path  through  which  we 
must  unceasingly  run  — a path  of  red-hot  coals,  with  a few  cool 
places  here  and  there ; then  he  who  is  entangled  in  delusion  is  con- 
soled by  the  cool  places,  on  which  he  now  stands,  or  which  he 
sees  near  him,  and  sets  out  to  run  through  the  course.  But  he  who 
sees  through  the  principium  individuationis,  and  recognizes  the 
real  nature  of  the  thing-in-itself,  and  thus  the  whole,  is  no  longer 
susceptible  of  such  consolation;  he  sees  himself  in  all  places  at 
once,  and  withdraws.  His  will  turns  round,  no  longer  asserts  its 
own  nature,  which  is  reflected  in  the  phenomenon,  but  denies  it. 
The  phenomenon  by  which  this  change  is  marked,  is  the  transi- 
tion from  virtue  to  asceticism.  That  is  to  say,  it  no  longer  suffices 
for  such  a man  to  love  others  as  himself,  and  to  do  as  much  for 
them  as  for  himself ; but  there  arises  within  him  a horror  of  the 
nature  of  which  his  own  phenomenal  existence  is  an  expression, 
the  will  to  live,  the  kernel  and  inner  nature  of  that  world  which  is 
recognized  as  full  of  misery.  He  therefore  disowns  this  nature 


THE  WORLD  AS  WILL  AND  IDEA  617 

which  appears  in  him,  and  is  already  expressed  through  his  body, 
and  his  action  gives  the  lie  to  his  phenomenal  existence,  and  ap- 
pears in  open  contradiction  to  it.  Essentially  nothing  else  but  a 
manifestation  of  will,  he  ceases  to  will  anything,  guards  against 
attaching  his  will  to  anything,  and  seeks  to  confirm  in  himself  the 
greatest  indifference  to  everything.  His  body,  healthy  and  strong, 
expresses  through  the  genitals  the  sexual  impulse ; but  he  denies 
the  will  and  gives  the  lie  to  the  body;  he  desires  no  sensual  grati- 
fication under  any  condition.  Voluntary  and  complete  chastity 
is  the  first  step  in  asceticism  or  the  denial  of  the  will  to  live.  It 
thereby  denies  the  assertion  of  the  will  which  extends  beyond  the 
individual  life,  and  gives  the  assurance  that  with  the  life  of  this 
body,  the  will,  whose  manifestation  it  is,  ceases.  Nature,  always 
true  and  naive,  declares  that  if  this  maxim  became  universal,  the 
human  race  would  die  out ; and  I think  I may  assume,  in  accord- 
ance with  what  was  said  in  the  Second  Book  about  the  connection 
of  all  manifestations  of  will,  that  with  its  highest  manifestation, 
the  weaker  reflection  of  it  would  also  pass  away,  as  the  twilight 
vanishes  along  with  the  full  light.  With  the  entire  abolition  of 
knowledge,  the  rest  of  the  world  would  of  itself  vanish  into  no- 
thing; for  without  a subject  there  is  no  object.  I should  like  here 
to  refer  to  a passage  in  the  Vedas,  where  it  is  said:  “As  in  this 
world  hungry  infants  press  round  their  mother ; so  do  all  beings 
await  the  holy  oblation.”  Sacrifice  means  resignation  generally, 
and  the  rest  of  nature  must  look  for  its  salvation  to  man  who  is  at 
once  the  priest  and  the  sacrifice.  Indeed  it  deserves  to  be  noticed 
as  very  remarkable,  that  this  thought  has  also  been  expressed  by 
the  admirable  and  unfathomably  profound  Angelus  Silesius,  in  the 
little  poem  entitled,  “ IMan  brings  all  to  God  ” ; it  runs,  “ Man ! all 
loves  thee ; around  thee  great  is  the  throng.  All  things  flee  to  thee 
that  they  may  attain  to  God.”  But  a yet  greater  mystic,  Meister 
Eckhard,  whose  wonderful  writings  are  at  last  accessible  (1857) 
through  the  edition  of  Franz  Pfeiffer,  says  the  same  thing  (p.  459) 
quite  in  the  sense  explained  here : “ I bear  witness  to  the  saying  of 
Christ.  I,  if  I be  lifted  up  from  the  earth,  will  draw  all  things  unto 
me  (John  xii.  32).  So  shall  the  good  man  draw  all  things  up  to 
God,  to  the  source  whence  they  first  came.  The  Masters  certify 


6i8 


ARTHUR  SCHOPENHAUER 


to  us  that  all  creatures  are  made  for  the  sake  of  man.  This  is 
proved  in  all  created  things,  by  the  fact  that  the  one  makes  the 
use  of  the  other;  the  ox  makes  use  of  the  grass,  the  fish  of  the 
water,  the  bird  of  the  air,  the  wild  beast  of  the  forest.  Thus,  all 
created  things  become  of  use  to  the  good  man.  A good  man  brings 
to  God  the  one  created  thing  in  the  other.”  He  means  to  say,  that 
man  makes  use  of  the  brutes  in  this  life  because,  in  and  with 
himself,  he  saves  them  also. 

In  Buddhism  also,  there  is  no  lack  of  expressions  of  this  truth. 
For  example,  when  Buddha,  still  as  Bodisatwa,  has  his  horse 
saddled  for  the  last  time,  for  his  flight  into  the  wilderness  from 
his  father’s  house,  he  says  these  lines  to  the  horse:  “Long  hast 
thou  existed  in  life  and  in  death,  but  now  thou  shalt  cease  from 
carrying  and  drawing.  Bear  me  but  this  once  more,  O Kanta- 
kana,  away  from  here,  and  when  I have  attained  to  the  Law  (have 
become  Buddha)  I will  not  forget  thee.” 

Asceticism  then  shows  itself  further  in  voluntary  and  inten- 
tional poverty,  which  not  only  arises  per  accidens,  because  the 
possessions  are  given  away  to  mitigate  the  sufferings  of  others, 
but  is  here  an  end  in  itself,  is  meant  to  serve  as  a constant  morti- 
fication of  will,  so  that  the  satisfaction  of  the  wishes,  the  sweet  of 
life,  shall  not  again  arouse  the  will,  against  which  self-knowledge 
has  conceived  a horror.  He  who  has  attained  to  this  point,  still 
always  feels,  as  a living  body,  as  concrete  manifestation  of  will, 
the  natural  disposition  for  every  kind  of  volition;  but  he  inten- 
tionally suppresses  it,  for  he  compels  himself  to  refrain  from  doing 
all  that  he  w^ould  like  to  do,  and  to  do  all  that  he  would  like  not  to 
do,  even  if  this  has  no  further  end  than  that  of  serving  as  a morti- 
fication of  will.  Since  he  himself  denies  the  will  which  appears  in 
his  own  person,  he  will  not  resist  if  another  does  the  same,  i.  e., 
inflicts  wrongs  upon  him.  Therefore  every  suffering  coming  to 
him  from  without,  through  chance  or  the  wickedness  of  others, 
is  welcome  to  him,  every  injury,  ignominy,  and  insult;  he  receives 
them  gladly  as  the  opportunity  of  learning  with  certainty  that  he 
no  longer  asserts  the  will,  but  gladly  sides  with  every  enemy  of  the 
manifestation  of  will  which  is  his  own  person.  Therefore  he  bears 
such  ignominy  and  suffering  with  inexhaustible  patience  and 


THE  WORLD  AS  WILL  AND  IDEA  619 

meekness,  returns  good  for  evil  without  ostentation,  and  allows 
the  fire  of  anger  to  rise  within  him  just  as  little  as  that  of  the  de- 
sires. And  he  mortifies  not  only  the  will  itself,  but  also  its  visible 
form,  its  objectivity,  the  body.  He  nourishes  it  sparingly,  lest  its 
excessive  vigour  and  prosperity  should  animate  and  excite  more 
strongly  the  will,  of  which  it  is  merely  the  expression  and  the 
mirror.  So  he  practises  fasting,  and  even  resorts  to  chastisement 
and  self-inflicted  torture,  in  order  that,  by  constant  privation  and 
suffering,  he  may  more  and  more  break  down  and  destroy  the 
will,  which  he  recognizes  and  abhors  as  the  source  of  his  own  suf- 
fering existence  and  that  of  the  world.  If  at  last  death  comes, 
which  puts  an  end  to  this  manifestation  of  that  will,  whose  exist- 
ence here  has  long  since  perished  through  free-denial  of  itself, 
with  the  exception  of  the  weak  residue  of  it  which  appears  as  the 
life  of  this  body ; it  is  most  welcome,  and  is  gladly  received  as  a 
longed-for  deliverance.  Here  it  is  not,  as  in  the  case  of  others, 
merely  the  manifestation  which  ends  with  death;  but  the  inner 
nature  itself  is  abolished,  which  here  existed  only  in  the  manifes- 
tation, and  that  in  a very  weak  degree;  this  last  slight  bond  is 
now  broken.  For  him  who  thus  ends,  the  world  has  ended  also. 

And  what  I have  here  described  with  feeble  tongue  and  only 
in  general  terms,  is  no  philosophical  fable,  invented  by  myself, 
and  only  of  to-day;  no,  it  was  the  enviable  life  of  so  many  saints 
and  beautiful  souls  among  Christians,  and  still  more  among  Hin- 
dus and  Buddhists,  and  also  among  the  believers  of  other  reli- 
gions. However  different  were  the  dogmas  impressed  on  their 
reason,  the  same  inward,  direct,  intuitive  knowledge,  from  which 
alone  all  virtue  and  holiness  proceed,  expressed  itself  in  precisely 
the  same  way  in  the  conduct  of  life.  For  here  also  the  great  dis- 
tinction between  intuitive  and  abstract  knowledge  shows  itself; 
a distinction  which  is  of  such  importance  and  universal  applica- 
tion in  our  whole  investigation,  and  which  has  hitherto  been  too 
little  attended  to.  There  is  a wide  gulf  between  the  two,  which 
can  only  be  crossed  by  the  aid  of  philosophy,  as  regards  the 
knowledge  of  the  nature  of  the  world.  Intuitively  or  in  concreto, 
every  man  is  really  conscious  of  all  philosophical  truths,  but 
to  bring  them  to  abstract  knowledge,  to  reflection,  is  the  work 


620  ARTHUR  SCHOPENHAUER 

of  philosophy,  which  neither  ought  nor  is  able  to  do  more  than 
this. 

Thus  it  may  be  that  the  inner  nature  of  holiness,  self-renuncia- 
tion, mortification  of  our  own  will,  asceticism,  is  here  for  the  first 
time  expressed  abstractly,  and  free  from  all  mythical  elements,  as 
denial  of  the  will  to  live,  appearing  after  the  complete  knowledge 
of  its  own  nature  has  become  a quieter  of  all  volition.  On  the 
other  hand,  it  has  been  known  directly  and  realized  in  practice 
by  saints  and  ascetics,  who  had  all  the  same  inward  knowledge, 
though  they  used  very  different  language  with  regard  to  it,  accord- 
ing to  the  dogmas  which  their  reason  had  accepted,  and  in  conse- 
quence of  which  an  Indian,  a Christian,  or  a Lama  saint  must 
each  give  a very  different  account  of  his  conduct,  which  is,  how- 
ever, of  no  importance  as  regards  the  fact.  A saint  may  be  full  of 
the  absurdest  superstition,  or,  on  the  contrary,  he  may  be  a phi- 
losopher, it  is  all  the  same.  His  conduct  alone  certifies  that  he  is  a 
saint,  for,  in  a moral  regard,  it  proceeds  from  knowledge  of  the 
world  and  its  nature,  which  is  not  abstractly  but  intuitively  and 
directly  apprehended,  and  is  only  expressed  by  him  in  any  dogma 
for  the  satisfaction  of  his  reason.  It  is  therefore  just  as  little  need- 
ful that  a saint  should  be  a philosopher  as  that  a philosopher 
should  be  a saint ; just  as  it  is  not  necessary  that  a perfectly  beau- 
tiful man  should  be  a great  sculptor,  or  that  a great  sculptor 
should  himself  be  a beautiful  man.  In  general,  it  is  a strange 
demand  upon  a moralist  that  he  should  teach  no  other  virtue  than 
that  which  he  himself  possesses.  To  repeat  the  whole  nature  of 
the  world  abstractly,  universally,  and  distinctly  in  concepts,  and 
thus  to  store  up,  as  it  were,  a reflected  image  of  it  in  permanent 
concepts  always  at  the  command  of  the  reason ; this  and  nothing 
else  is  philosophy. 

But  the  description  I have  given  above  of  the  denial  of  the 
will  to  live,  of  the  conduct  of  a beautiful  soul,  of  a resigned  and 
voluntarily  expiating  saint,  is  merely  abstract  and  general,  and 
therefore  cold.  As  the  knowledge  from  which  the  denial  of  the 
will  proceeds  is  intuitive  and  not  abstract,  it  finds  its  most  perfect 
expression,  not  in  abstract  conceptions,  but  in  deeds  and  conduct. 
Therefore,  in  order  to  understand  fully  what  we  philosophically 


THE  WORLD  AS  WILL  AND  IDEA  621 


express  as  denial  of  the  will  to  live,  one  must  come  to  know  ex- 
amples of  it  in  experience  and  actual  life.  Certainly  they  are  not 
to  be  met  with  in  daily  experience : Nam  omnia  praeclara  tarn  dif- 
ficilia  quam  rara  sunt,  Spinoza  admirably  says.  Therefore,  unless 
by  a specially  happy  fate  we  are  made  eye-witnesses,  we  have  to 
content  ourselves  with  descriptions  of  the  lives  of  such  men. 
Indian  literature,  as  we  see  from  the  little  that  we  as  yet  know 
through  translations,  is  very  rich  in  descriptions  of  the  lives  of 
saints,  penitents,  Samanas  or  ascetics,  Sannyasis  or  mendicants, 
and  whatever  else  they  may  be  called.  Among  Christians  also 
there  is  no  lack  of  examples  which  afford  us  the  illustrations  we 
desire.  Collections  of  such  biographies  have  been  made  at  various 
times.  To  this  category  very  properly  belongs  the  life  of  St. 
Francis  of  Assisi,  that  true  personification  of  the  ascetic,  and  pro- 
totype of  all  mendicant  friars.  . . . But  as  a special  and  exceed- 
ingly full  example  and  practical  illustration  of  the  conceptions 
I have  established,  I can  thoroughly  recommend  the  “Autobio- 
graphy of  Madame  de  Guion.”  To  become  acquainted  with  this 
great  and  beautiful  soul,  the  very  thought  of  whom  always  fills 
me  with  reverence,  and  to  do  justice  to  the  excellence  of  her 
disposition  while  making  allowance  for  the  superstition  of  her 
reason,  must  be  just  as  delightful  to  every  man  of  the  better  sort 
as  with  vulgar  thinkers,  i.  e.,  the  majority,  that  book  will  always 
stand  in  bad  repute.  For  it  is  the  case  with  regard  to  everything, 
that  each  man  can  only  prize  that  which  to  a certain  extent  is 
analogous  to  him  and  for  which  he  has  at  least  a slight  inclina- 
tion. This  holds  good  of  ethical  concerns  as  well  as  of  intellectual. 
We  might  to  a certain  extent  regard  the  well-known  French 
biography  of  Spinoza  as  a case  in  point,  if  we  used  as  a key 
to  it  that  noble  introduction  to  his  very  insufficient  essay,  De 
Emendatione  Intellectus,  a passage  which  I can  also  recom- 
mend as  the  most  effectual  means  I know  of  stilling  the  storm 
of  the  passions.  Finally,  even  the  great  Goethe,  Greek  as  he  is, 
did  not  think  it  below  his  dignity  to  show  us  this  most  beautiful 
side  of  humanity  in  the  magic  mirror  of  poetic  art,  for  he  repre- 
sented the  life  of  Fraulein  Klettenberg  in  an  idealized  form 
in  his  “Confessions  of  a Beautiful  Soul,”  and  later,  in  his  own 


622 


ARTHUR  SCHOPENHAUER 


biography,  gave  us  also  an  historical  account  of  it.  Besides 
this,  he  twice  told  the  story  of  the  life  of  St.  Philippo  Nero. 
The  history  of  the  world  will,  and  indeed  must,  keep  silence 
about  the  men  whose  conduct  is  the  best  and  only  adequate 
illustration  of  this  important  point  of  our  investigation,  for 
the  material  of  the  history  of  the  world  is  quite  different,  and 
indeed  opposed  to  this.  It  is  not  the  denial  of  the  will  to  live,  but 
its  assertion  and  its  manifestation  in  innumerable  individuals  in 
which  its  conflict  with  itself  at  the  highest  grade  of  its  objectifica- 
tion appears  with  perfect  distinctness,  and  brings  before  our  eyes, 
now  the  ascendancy  of  the  individual  through  prudence,  now  the 
might  of  the  many  through  their  mass,  now  the  might  of  chance 
personified  as  fate,  always  the  vanity  and  emptiness  of  the  whole 
effort.  We,  however,  do  not  follow  here  the  course  of  phenomena 
in  time,  but,  as  philosophers,  we  seek  to  investigate  the  ethical 
significance  of  action,  and  take  this  as  the  only  criterion  of  what 
for  us  is  significant  and  important.  Thus  we  will  not  be  withheld 
by  any  fear  of  the  constant  numerical  superiority  of  vulgarity  and 
dulness  from  acknowledging  that  the  greatest,  most  important, 
and  most  significant  phenomenon  that  the  world  can  show  is  not 
the  conqueror  of  the  world,  but  the  subduer  of  it ; is  nothing  but 
the  quiet,  unobserved  life  of  a man  who  has  attained  to  the  know- 
ledge in  consequence  of  which  he  surrenders  and  denies  that  will 
to  live  which  fills  everything  and  strives  and  strains  in  all,  and 
which  first  gains  freedom  here  in  him  alone,  so  that  his  conduct 
becomes  the  exact  opposite  of  that  of  other  men.  In  this  respect, 
therefore,  for  the  philosopher,  these  accounts  of  the  lives  of  holy, 
self-denying  men,  badly  as  they  are  generally  written,  and  mixed 
as  they  are  with  superstition  and  nonsense,  are,  because  of  the 
significance  of  the  material,  immeasurably  more  instructive  and 
important  than  even  Plutarch  and  Livy. 


The  more  intense  the  will  is,  the  more  glaring  is  the  conflict  of 
its  manifestation,  and  thus  the  greater  is  the  suffering.  A world 
which  was  the  manifestation  of  a far  more  intense  will  to  live  than 
this  world  manifests  would  produce  so  much  the  greater  suffering; 
would  thus  be  a hell. 


THE  WORLD  AS  WILL  AND  IDEA  623 

All  suffering,  since  it  is  a mortification  and  a call  to  resignation, 
has  potentially  a sanctif}dng  power.  This  is  the  explanation  of  the 
fact  that  every  great  misfortune  or  deep  pain  inspires  a certain 
awe.  But  the  sufferer  only  really  becomes  an  object  of  reverence 
when,  surveying  the  course  of  his  life  as  a chain  of  sorrows,  or 
mourning  some  great  and  incurable  misfortune,  he  does  not 
really  look  at  the  special  combination  of  circumstances  which  has 
plunged  his  own  life  into  suffering,  nor  stops  at  the  single  great 
misfortune  that  has  befallen  him ; for  in  so  doing  his  knowledge 
still  follows  the  principle  of  sufficient  reason,  and  clings  to  the 
particular  phenomenon ; he  still  wills  life,  only  not  under  the  condi- 
tions which  have  happened  to  him;  but  only  then,  I say,  is  he 
truly  worthy  of  reverence  when  he  raises  his  glance  from  the  par- 
ticular to  the  universal,  when  he  regards  his  suffering  as  merely 
an  example  of  the  whole,  and  for  him,  since  in  a moral  regard 
he  partakes  of  genius,  one  case  stands  for  a thousand,  so  that  the 
whole  of  life  conceived  as  essentially  suffering  brings  him  to 
resignation.  Therefore  it  inspires  reverence  when  in  Goethe’s 
“ Torquato  Tasso  ” the  princess  speaks  of  how  her  own  life  and 
that  of  her  relations  has  always  been  sad  and  joyless,  and  yet 
regards  the  matter  from  an  entirely  universal  point  of  view. 

A very  noble  character  we  always  imagine  with  a certain  trace 
of  quiet  sadness,  which  is  anything  but  a constant  fretfulness  at 
daily  annoyances  (this  would  be  an  ignoble  trait,  and  lead  us  to 
fear  a bad  disposition),  but  is  a consciousness  derived  from  know- 
ledge of  the  vanity  of  all  possessions,  of  the  suffering  of  all  life, 
not  merely  of  his  own.  But  such  knowledge  may  primarily  be 
awakened  by  the  personal  experience  of  suffering,  especially  some 
one  great  sorrow,  as  a single  unfulfilled  wish  brought  Petrarch 
to  that  state  of  resigned  sadness  concerning  the  whole  of  life 
which  appeals  to  us  so  pathetically  in  his  works ; for  the  Daphne 
he  pursued  had  to  flee  from  his  hands  in  order  to  leave  him,  in- 
stead of  herself,  the  immortal  laurel.  When  through  some  such 
great  and  irrevocable  denial  of  fate  the  will  is  to  some  extent 
broken,  almost  nothing  else  is  desired,  and  the  character  shows 
itself  mild,  just,  noble,  and  resigned.  When,  finally,  grief  has  no 
definite  object,  but  extends  itself  over  the  whole  of  life,  then  it  is 


624 


ARTHUR  SCHOPENHAUER 


to  a certain  extent  a going  into  itself,  a withdrawal,  a gradual  dis- 
appearance of  the  will,  whose  visible  manifestation,  the  body,  it 
imperceptibly  but  surely  undermines,  so  that  a man  feels  a cer- 
tain loosening  of  his  bonds,  a mild  foretaste  of  that  death  which 
promises  to  be  the  abolition  at  once  of  the  body  and  of  the  will. 
Therefore  a secret  pleasure  accompanies  this  grief,  and  it  is  this, 
as  I believe,  which  the  most  melancholy  of  all  nations  has  called 
“ the  joy  of  grief.”  But  here  also  lies  the  danger  of  sentimentality, 
both  in  life  itself  and  in  the  representation  of  it  in  poetry;  when 
a man  is  always  mourning  and  lamenting  without  courageously 
rising  to  resignation.  In  this  way  we  lose  both  earth  and  heaven, 
and  retain  merely  a watery  sentimentality.  Only  if  suffering 
assumes  the  form  of  pure  knowledge,  and  this,  acting  as  a quieter 
of  the  'Will,  brings  about  resignation,  is  it  worthy  of  reverence.  In 
this  regard,  however,  w^e  feel  a certain  respect  at  the  sight  of  every 
great  sufferer  which  is  akin  to  the  feeling  excited  by  virtue  and 
nobility  of  character,  and  also  seems  like  a reproach  of  our  own 
happy  condition.  We  cannot  help  regarding  every  sorrow,  both 
our  own  and  those  of  others,  as  at  least  a potential  advance 
towards  virtue  and  holiness,  and,  on  the  contrary,  pleasures  and 
w^orldly  satisfactions  as  a retrogression  from  them.  This  goes  so 
far,  that  every  man  wEo  endures  a great  bodily  or  mental  suffering, 
indeed  every  one  who  merely  performs  some  physical  labour 
which  demands  the  greatest  exertion,  in  the  sweat  of  his  brow 
and  with  evident  exhaustion,  yet  with  patience  and  without  mur- 
muring, every  such  man,  I say,  if  we  consider  him  with  close  at- 
tention, appears  to  us  like  a sick  man  who  tries  a painful  cure, 
and  who  willingly,  and  even  with  satisfaction,  endures  the  suffer- 
ing it  causes  him,  because  he  knows  that  the  more  he  suffers  the 
more  the  cause  of  his  disease  is  affected,  and  that  therefore  the 
present  suffering  is  the  measure  of  his  cure. 

According  to  what  has  been  said,  the  denial  of  the  will  to  live, 
which  is  just  what  is  called  absolute,  entire  resignation,  or  holi- 
ness, always  proceeds  from  that  quieter  of  the  will  which  the 
knowledge  of  its  inner  conflict  and  essential  vanity,  expressing 
themselves  in  the  suffering  of  all  living  things,  becomes.  The 
difference,  which  w^e  have  represented  as  two  paths,  consists  in 


THE  WORLD  AS  WILL  AND  IDEA  625 

whether  that  knowledge  is  called  up  by  suffering  which  is  merely 
and  purely  known,  and  is  freely  appropriated  by  means  of  the  pene- 
tration of  the  principium  individuationis,  or  by  suffering  which 
is  directly  fell  by  a man  himself.  True  salvation,  deliverance 
from  life  and  suffering,  cannot  even  be  imagined  wdthout  com- 
plete denial  of  the  will.  Till  then,  every  one  is  simply  this  will 
itself,  whose  manifestation  is  an  ephemeral  existence,  a constantly 
vain  and  empty  striving,  and  the  world  full  of  suffering  we  have 
represented,  to  which  all  irrevocably  and  in  like  manner  belong. 
For  we  found  above  that  life  is  always  assured  to  the  will  to  live, 
and  its  one  real  form  is  the  present,  from  which  they  can  never 
escape,  since  birth  and  death  reign  in  the  phenomenal  world. 
The  Indian  mythus  expresses  this  by  saying  “they  are  born 
again.”  The  great  ethical  difference  of  character  means  this,  that 
the  bad  man  is  infinitely  far  from  the  attainment  of  the  know- 
ledge from  which  the  denial  of  the  will  proceeds,  and  therefore 
he  is  in  truth  actually  exposed  to  all  the  miseries  which  appear 
in  life  as  possible;  for  even  the  present  fortunate  condition  of  his 
personality  is  merely  a phenomenon  produced  by  the  principium 
individuationis,  and  a delusion  of  Maya,  the  happy  dream  of  a 
beggar.  The  sufferings  which  in  the  vehemence  and  ardour  of 
his  will  he  inflicts  upon  others  are  the  measure  of  the  suffering, 
the  experience  of  which  in  his  own  person  cannot  break  his  will, 
and  plainly  lead  it  to  the  denial  of  itself.  All  true  and  pure  love, 
on  the  other  hand,  and  even  all  free  justice,  proceed  from  the 
penetration  of  the  principium  individuationis,  which,  if  it  appears 
with  its  full  power,  results  in  perfect  sanctification  and  salvation, 
the  phenomenon  of  which  is  the  state  of  resignation  described 
above,  the  unbroken  peace  which  accompanies  it,  and  the  greatest 
delight  in  death. 


FRIEDRICH  EDUARD  BENEKE 

( 1798-1854) 

THE  NATURAL  SYSTEM  OF  MORALS 

Translated  from  the  German  by 
BENJAMIN  RAND 

THIRD  CHAPTER.  AM  EXPOSITION  OF  THE 
FUNDAMENTAL  NORMS  OF  MORALS 

From  our  previous  reflections  it  has  become  probable  that  the 
moral  demands  and  interests  proceed  in  some  way  from  the  so- 
called  natural  ones,  that  is  to  say  from  those  pertaining  to  good 
and  evil,  as  the  elements  in  which  they  have  their  origin;  and  also 
that  the  universal  validity  and  necessity  which  characterize  these 
moral  demands  and  interests  might  already  be  in  some  way  pre- 
sent in  the  latter  and  from  them  be  transferred  to  the  former.  It 
has  at  the  same  time  become  evident  to  us  that  the  necessity,  such 
as  becomes  valid  for  the  moral  demands,  is  in  no  wise  incompati- 
ble with  the  relativity  of  good  and  evil,  but  rather  is  immediately 
connected  with  this;  since  those  necessary  demands  relate  di- 
rectly to  the  gradation  of  good  and  evil.  As  the  fundamental  pre- 
supposition, therefore,  of  the  moral  demands  and  interests,  there 
appeared  a gradation  of  good  and  evil  which  is  universally  valid 
and  as  such  is  necessarily  imposed.  A result  which  furthermore 
harmonized  entirely  with  the  foregoing  is,  that  the  ethical  char- 
acter of  conduct  is  determined  by  the  form  of  the  motives,  not 
indeed  by  the  logical  form  of  universality,  but  by  that  of  the 
practical  demands  in  human  affairs.  But  we  were  previously  un- 
able to  demonstrate  this  gradation  of  good  and  evil;  since  exist- 
ing psychology  in  no  wise  offered  a means  for  the  solution  of 
such  a fundamental  problem.  We  have  therefore  first  of  all 
had  to  supply  this  means  by  a general  survey  of  practical  devel- 

* From  F.  E.  Beneke’s  Grundlinien  des  naturlichen  Systemes  der  praktischen 
Philosophie,  Berlin,  1837,  Bd.  I. 


THE  NATURAL  SYSTEM  OF  MORALS  627 

opments  and  of  the  knowledge  gained  concerning  the  way  in 
which  this  gradation  originated.  Equipped  therewith  we  resume 
the  interrupted  investigation. 

Whoever  examines  his  moral  consciousness,  unconstrained  and 
unbiassed  by  the  prejudices  of  systems,  can  have  no  doubt  that 
the  moral  demand  does  not  oppose  natural  feeling  and  aspi- 
ration, but  on  the  contrary  entirely  accepts  and  confirms  them 
as  its  underlying  criteria.  As  previously  remarked,  the  moral  law 
never  requires  us  immediately  and  without  further  consideration 
to  regard  a good  as  an  evil,  but  only  in  so  far  as  the  attainment  of 
this  good  stands  in  the  way  of  the  attainment  of  a higher  good. 
Furthermore  the  moral  law  also  never  requires  us  immediately 
and  without  further  consideration  to  strive  for  an  evil  as  a good, 
but  only  in  so  far  as  it  is  absolutely  necessary  for  the  avoidance 
of  a greater  evil,  or  for  the  attainment  of  a greater  good.  The 
moral  law  never  exacts  the  sacrifice  of  a greater  for  a lesser  good 
unless  this  latter  is  outweighed  by  some  still  greater  good.  The 
moral  demand  reveals  itself  therefore  as  in  entire  harmony  with 
the  natural  demands.  But  it  does  enjoin  upon  us  not  to  ascribe 
too  high  a value  to  any  good  or  evil,  and  to  esteem  all  things  in 
accordance  with  their  true  worth,  always  taking  our  conduct  into 
account.  We  should  call  that  man  morally  faultless  who  should 
have  made  a correct  valuation  of  everything  that  can  become  the 
object  of  human  interest  and  action,  and  who  should  feel,  know, 
and  will  nothing  higher  and  nothing  lower  than  as  it  is  deter- 
mined by  this  valuation.  The  proper  form  of  desire  therefore 
harmonizes  with  its  proper  content ; or  is  rather  to  be  found  where 
this  is.  The  pursuit  of  the  universal  good,  as  measured  quite 
impartially  in  accordance  with  a true  assessment  of  values,  and 
controlled  by  fundamental  motives,  might  be  esteemed  without 
qualification  as  the  characteristic  of  morality. 

But  what  is  true  or  right,  and  what  (as  immediately  connected 
therewith)  is  the  universal  and  necessary  valuation  of  good  and 
evil  ? In  conformity  with  what  has  just  been  said  we  should  here 
in  the  first  place  reply : it  is  that  which  proceeds  from  and  is  con- 
ditioned by  the  fundamental  essence  of  human  nature.^  The 

^ The  stoical  principle  to  live  in  conformity  with  nature  rested  therefore  in 
every  instance  upon  a true  and  deep  natural  instinct. 


628 


FRIEDRICH  EDUARD  BENEKE 


moral  demands  are  thoroughly  in  harmony  with  the  natural,  if 
these  are  regarded  in  their  original  purity.  Or,  (regarding  this 
important  relation  from  still  another  point  of  view),  the  moral 
commands,  however  ideal  they  may  be,  are  nevertheless  given 
to  us  as  natural  products  of  the  human  spirit.  The  soul  there- 
fore, by  virtue  of  its  deepest  nature,  must  contain  in  itself  the 
principles  underlying  these  commands.  But  what  are  these 
principles  ? 

First  of  all  we  must  prepare  for  the  positive  presentation  of 
such  principles  by  a negative  description,  since  in  conformity 
with  the  more  highly  developed  moral  consciousness,  which  is 
itself  aware  of  this  higher  development,  we  must  be  on  our 
guard  against  a conception  of  human  nature  that  is  in  any  way 
too  narrow.  Heretofore  this  has  been  the  fault  more  or  less  of  all 
those  who  have  postulated  the  standard  of  goods  as  the  funda- 
mental rule,  or  have  set  up  the  universal  good  as  the  principle 
of  morality.  From  this  circumstance  also  is  to  be  explained  in 
large  part  the  opposition  which  this  principle  has  encountered 
from  the  higher  moral  consciousness;  and  quite  rightly  when  we 
consider  the  manner  in  which  it  has  been  set  up. 

That  the  moral  consciousness  cannot  be  reduced  to  an  egoistic 
weighing  of  interests,  either  in  reference  to  the  individual,  or  even 
in  reference  to  the  state,  which  is  also  but  an  individual  in  a 
group,  is  so  evident  as  scarcely  to  need  refutation.  So  far  as  such 
a refutation  may  be  still  useful  to-day,  it  has  already  been  made 
by  us.'  We  have  shown  that  the  actual  limitation  to  that  which 
is  beneficial  or  injurious  to  us  is  decidedly  to  be  rejected  as 
unmoral;  and  that  the  theory  which  rests  upon  the  view  that 
the  advantage  and  disadvantage  of  others  can  nevertheless  have 
influence  upon  us  only  in  so  far  as  it  is  felt  within  us,  and  is 
therefore  always  our  own  or  a selfish  interest,  is  based  upon  a 
psychological  error,  which  can  be  demonstrated  with  the  greatest 
certainty.  Our  own  or  a selfish  interest  is  only  what  is  felt  or  de- 
sired in  the  group  of  ideas  by  which  we  become  conscious  of  our- 
selves ; what  on  the  other  hand  is  felt  or  desired  in  the  group  of 
ideas  which  refer  to  others  is  projected  by  us  into  their  souls,  and 

* System  der  prakhschen  Philosophic,  p.  8o. 


THE  NATURAL  SYSTEM  OF  MORALS  629 

therefore  is  an  interest  regarded  as  unselfish.  We  have  no  egois- 
tically  limited  relation,  but  on  the  contrary  an  enlargement  of 
our  being  toward  others,  and  an  absorption  of  the  being  of  these 
others  in  our  own,  in  such  a way,  however,  that  we  esteem  their 
being  for  its  own  sake  and  independently  of  all  regard  to  our- 
selves. The  more  highly  developed  moral  consciousness  demands 
this  altruism  with  unquestioned  authority.  The  advancement  of 
the  welfare  of  others  is  to  be  regarded  as  on  an  equal  footing  with 
our  own ; for  in  actuality  or  according  to  its  nature  it  is  on  the 
same  footing  with  ours,  and  only  when  we  desire  and  seek  its 
advancement  in  the  same  degree  with  our  own  do  we  therefore 
regard  it  in  a practically  true  or  right  way. 

Concerning  the  error  of  another  limitation  there  can  likewise 
hardly  be  any  doubt.  It  is  the  error  of  those  who  try  to  reduce 
the  moral  consciousness  to  the  valuation  of  sensuous  pleasure. 
Man  is  indeed  a sensuous  being,  but  he  is  also  an  intellectual 
being;  and  the  intellectual  is  so  decidedly  the  higher  that  it  is  a 
scarcely  conceivable  perversion  of  the  true  relation  to  try  to  make 
the  sensuous  the  higher.  This  perversion  of  the  true  relation  is  so 
great  that  as  a matter  of  fact  we  can  scarcely  point  out  a philo- 
sopher who  has  really  taught  this,  and  has  affirmed  the  sensuous 
pleasure  to  be  the  highest  good.  At  most  the  system  of  the  younger 
Aristippus  might  possibly  have  contained  this  doctrine.  It  was 
without  doubt  entirely  foreign  to  the  elder  Aristippus  and  to 
Epicurus,  to  whom  it  is  frequently  ascribed ; on  the  contrary,  we 
find  in  them  the  most  definite  declarations  that  the  intellectual 
pleasure  is  much  higher  and  more  enduring  than  the  sensu- 
ous. 

The  reason  why  these  writers  and  so  many  others  like  them 
have  failed  is  owing  to  a third  limitation  in  the  conception  of 
human  nature : to  wit,  they  took  into  consideration  for  the  con- 
struction of  good  and  evil  only  sensations  or  conditions,  that  is, 
conscious  developments,  and  omitted  the  developments  of  the 
unconscious  life  of  the  soul,  or  inner  characteristics,  such  as 
talents,  capacities,  attainments,  and  peculiarities  of  disposition 
and  character  of  every  kind.  In  our  general  survey  we  have 
already  become  acquainted  with  a large  number  of  such  char- 


FRIEDRICH  EDUARD  BENEKE 


630 

acteristics,  and  with  very  diversified  tendencies  which  are  directed 
toward  these  unconscious  developments.  The  more  highly  de- 
veloped moral  consciousness  cannot  be  in  doubt  as  to  how  we 
should  rank  these  two  types  of  psychical  existence  with  relation 
to  their  value.  The  permanent  has  incontestably  a higher  value 
than  the  transitory ; therefore  that  which  has  developed  as  the  inner 
essence  of  the  soul  has  a higher  value  than  mere  sensations  or 
conditions.  This  has  been  recognized,  moreover,  by  all  philoso- 
phical thinkers  w'ho  have  made  perfection  the  principle  of  morals, 
as  for  instance  in  antiquity  especially  the  Stoics,  and  in  modern 
times  the  Wolfian  School.  That  these  philosophers  did  not  con- 
vince their  opponents,  and  that  their  erroneous  view  has  been 
exploited  ever  anew  up  to  our  own  time,*  may  very  well  be  due 
chiefly  to  the  previously  mentioned  difficulty  of  representing  and 
of  characterizing  the  inner  essence  of  the  soul  with  clearness 
and  definiteness.  It  was  not  to  be  wondered  at,  but  was  even  in 
some  degree  necessary,  that  those  who  had  been  accustomed 
to  regard  clearness  and  definiteness  of  thought  everywhere  as 
the  highest  criterion,  or  the  conditio  sine  qua  non  of  scientific 
knowledge,  should  interpret  whatever  was  not  possible  to  be 
known,  as  non-existent.  It  was  with  a certain  measure  of  justice 
that  they  would  not  content  themselves  with  an  appeal  to  those 
obscure  presentations  and  feelings  beyond  which  the  defenders 
of  the  correct  theory  were  unable  to  go.  Thus  we  find  them  re- 
turning ever  anew  with  a kind  of  passionate  zeal  to  the  establish- 
ment of  a standard  based  upon  pleasant  and  unpleasant  sensa- 
tions, since  if  they  were  compelled  to  sacrifice  either  one,  they 
preferred  to  give  up  those  obscure  moral  sensations,  rather  than 
the  demand  for  thoroughgoing  scientific  clearness.  We  are 
now,  however,  for  the  first  time,  by  means  of  our  more  perfect 
psychological  construction,  in  a position  to  free  ourselves  entirely 
from  this  disability,  and  to  establish  with  full  clearness  and 
distinctness  the  true  valuation. 

But  in  order  to  secure  the  universal  recognition  of  this  deeper 
construction  we  have  still  to  contend  with  one  very  considerable 
difficulty,  and  that  is  the  lack  of  suitable  language  for  the  designa- 

* Most  recently  by  Bentham. 


THE  NATURAL  SYSTEM  OF  MORALS  631 

tion  of  these  fundamental  moral  relations.  Here  too  philosophy 
unfortunately  has  no  other  language  for  the  expression  of  its 
deeper  insight  than  that  of  common  life,  that  is  to  say,  than  that 
which  has  been  formed  for  the  superficial  knowledge  which  be- 
longs to  ordinary  unscientific  thinking.  But  in  common  speech 
there  are  no  words  which  express  the  developments  of  human 
nature  in  the  full  compass  just  mentioned;  or  which  designate 
fully  the  psychical  advancements  as  well  as  the  physical;  those 
of  other  human  beings,  even  all  mankind,  as  well  as  of  one’s  own 
person;  and  the  acquisitions  and  enhancements  of  the  inner  char- 
acteristics and  perfections  as  well  as  of  the  agreeable  sensations 
and  conditions.  Most  writers  (formerly  including  even  myself) 
have  used  the  terms  “desire”  {Lust)  and  “aversion”  {Unlust). 
These  have,  however,  a twofold  and  very  marked  deficiency ; first 
that  in  their  most  general  use  they  recall  the  physical,  whereas 
here  the  most  highly  psychical  (the  intellectual,  moral,  religious, 
etc.)  come  likewise  into  consideration ; and  secondly  that  they  are 
manifestly  limited  to  the  conscious  developments  and  to  transi- 
tory states.  The  words  “pleasure”  {Vergnugen)  and  “pain” 
(Schmerz)  are  open  to  the  same  objections,  and  have  besides  still 
more  special  meanings.  The  words  “good”  (Gut)  and  “evil” 
{UeheT)  likewise  call  to  mind  for  the  most  part  only  those  occur- 
rences which  determine  our  states  either  of  well-being  or  of  ill- 
feeling,  although  the  original  demarcation  of  these  concepts  was 
indeed  more  inclusive.  But  moral  science  has  a decided  need  of 
words  to  express  those  fundamental  relations  of  human  experi- 
ence in  their  entire  scope.  In  my  opinion,  the  words  “enhance” 
{steigern)  and  “depress”  {herabstimmen) , “promote”  {fordern) 
and  “inhibit  ” (hemmen),  are  the  most  universal  which  common 
speech  possesses  for  these  fundamental  relations,  and  so  I shall 
myself  employ  them  in  what  follows,  although  possibly  some  ob- 
jections might  be  made  even  to  them.  Meanwhile  I once  more 
repeat  the  explanation  that  in  their  use  I understand  the  psy- 
chical enhancements  and  depressions  no  less  than  the  physical ; 
those  of  other  human  beings  regarded  independently  and  for 
themselves  no  less  than  those  of  our  own  selves;  and  those  of 

* Beneke’s  Grundlegung  zur  Physik  der  Sitten,  1822. 


FRIEDRICH  EDUARD  BENEKE 


632 

the  inner  essence  of  the  soul  no  less  than  those  of  the  conscious 
developments. 

Our  task  is  to  determine  the  true  value  or  gradation  of  the  en- 
hancements and  depressions,  the  promotions  and  the  inhibitions, 
to  the  full  extent  set  forth ; and  to  show  in  what  way  this  estim.a- 
tion  or  gradation  is  grounded  universally  and  necessarily  in  the 
inmost  essence  of  the  human  soul.  For  the  true  estimate  of  values 
lying  at  the  foundation  of  the  moral  demands  is  given  to  us  as  a 
natural  product  of  the  human  soul.  It  must  therefore  somehow 
coincide  with  the  deepest  constitution  qi  our  being,  or  indeed,  if 
not  innate  or  preformed  (which  we  have  deemed  inadmissible  ') 
be  at  least  predetermined.  What  this  moral  law  affirms  to  be 
higher  must  in  some  manner  permit  of  proof  as  the  natural  (of 
course  the  psychically-natural)  higher,  or  as  that  which  must 
develop  with  every  higher  valuation  and  striving  according  to  the 
natural  laws  of  the  evolution  of  human  existence. 

It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  we  in  no  wise  intend  to  undertake 
a universally  valid  gradation  of  good  and  evil  at  the  outset. 
Our  task  is  rather  merely  to  prove  the  existence  of  such  a grada- 
tion, by  showing  how  it  arises  in  each  man  independently  of  any 
intended  assistance  of  his,  whenever  he  fully  and  genuinely  de- 
velops in  himself  the  enhancements  and  depressions  in  question. 
When  higher  and  lower  appear  in  juxtaposition,  the  higher  re- 
veals itself  as  the  higher,  the  lower  as  the  lower,  immediately,  one 
might  even  say  instinctively.  It  is  true  this  does  not  always  occur, 
nor  in  the  case  of  all  men ; for  that  development  does  not  always 
ensue  perfectly  and  genuinely.  Concerning  this  gradation  a strife 
will  therefore  arise  such  as  we  see  both  in  life  and  in  science 
in  only  too  many  instances.  Under  these  circumstances  the  task 
of  justifying  this  gradation  is  incumbent  upon  science;  since, 
as  conceived  by  the  common  consciousness,  it  cannot  justify  it- 
self, or,  in  other  words,  cannot  raise  into  a clear  and  definite  con- 
sciousness what  is  instinctive  and  obscure,  and  for  this  reason 
uncertain  and  problematical,  and  thus  secure  itself  against  all 
scepticism. 

But  in  what  way  can  science  solve  this  problem  ? Its  procedure 

* Beneke’s  Grundlinien  der  Sittenlehre,  pp.  32  ff.  and  65  £f. 


THE  NATURAL  SYSTEM  OF  MORALS  633 

in  this  matter  is  precisely  the  same  as  that  which  mathematics 
observes  in  its  proofs.  Take  for  example  the  well-known  Pytha- 
gorean proposition.  Suppose  that  we  asked  a number  of  persons 
who  were  still  unaware  of  the  relation,  for  an  immediate  com- 
parison of  the  square  upon  the  hypothenuse  with  the  squares 
upon  the  two  sides ; it  might  then  appear  probable  to  one,  that  the 
two  smaller  squares  taken  together  are  greater;  to  another,  on 
the  contrary,  that  the  greater  square  is  larger  than  the  other  two 
taken  together ; or  a third  would  perhaps  believe  that  they  were 
equal  in  size.  But  what  do  we  do?  We  divide  the  figures  by  cer- 
tain auxiliary  lines  into  constituent  parts  which  make  possible 
an  immediately  safe  and  exact  comparison;  and  in  virtue  of  this, 
every  one  who  will  follow  through  these  mathematical  construc- 
tions is  thereby  absolutely  compelled  to  recognize  the  equality. 

Here  also  we  proceed  in  precisely  the  same  way.  We  desire  to 
demonstrate  the  true  determined  gradation  of  good  and  evil,  or, 
what  after  our  previous  discussion  is  the  same,  a gradation  based 
upon  the  nature  of  the  human  soul  according  to  its  inmost  con- 
stitution. In  this  case  one  understands  one  thing,  and  another 
understands  something  else.  What  shall  we  do  ? Good  and  evil 
are  revealed  in  certain  valuations  and  tendencies:  but  these 
are  products  of  the  cooperation  of  a greater  or  lesser  number 
of  fundamental  psychical  constituents.  Into  these  fundamental 
constituents,  therefore,  we  are  compelled  to  resolve  those  valua- 
tions and  tendencies.  What  in  the  immediate  comparison  of  the 
latter  appears  as  uncertain  and  doubtful,  will  now,  if  we  com- 
pare the  simple  factors  with  one  another,  instead  of  those  mani- 
foldly complex  products,  admit  of  being  traced  with  a clearness 
and  definiteness,  which,  exactly  as  in  the  proof  of  mathematical 
propositions,  brings  irresistible  conviction  to  those  who  enter 
unreservedly  upon  this  construction. 

And  it  is  just  here  that  psychology  reveals  itself  as  the  under- 
lying science  of  morals;  or,  (if  the  expression  may  be  permitted), 
as  the  mathematics  of  morals.  Throughout  its  dissection  of 
moral  phenomena  it  presents  nothing  that  is  in  the  least  new, 
and  nothing  that  has  not  from  the  outset  existed  in  the  moral 
consciousness.  If  it  attempted  to  do  this,  it  would  indeed  be 


634  FRIEDRICH  EDUARD  BENEKE 

untrue,  as  it  would  falsify  the  moral  consciousness  by  the  intro- 
duction of  something  foreign  to  it.  But  it  teaches  us  to  view  in 
a scientific  consciousness,  that  is,  in  all  parts  clearly  and  defi- 
nitely, what  the  ordinary  moral  consciousness  contains  and  ex- 
presses in  the  immediately  given  synthesis,  and  for  that  very 
reason,  obscurely  and  indefinitely.  In  other  words,  in  order  to 
characterize  the  process  more  exactly,  it  teaches  us  to  view  these 
things  in  their  simple  constituents,  which,  for  the  very  reason 
that  they  are  simple,  permit  a thoroughly  clear  statement  com- 
pelling universal  acceptance. 

What  now  are  these  simple  elements  in  the  calculus  relating  to 
good  and  evil  things,  (such  as  sensations,  ideas  of  worth,  tenden- 
cies, etc.)  ? We  have  indicated  them  in  the  previous  section.  They 
are  upon  the  one  hand  the  elementary  faculties  of  the  human  soul 
in  and  for  itself,  when  as  yet  it  is  indifferent  as  regards  a theoret- 
ical or  practical  development ; and  upon  the  other  hand  external 
impressions.  By  the  united  effect  of  both  these  constituents  all 
practical  developments  originate  in  precisely  the  same  manner 
as  those  belonging  to  the  acquisition  of  knowledge.  Even  up  to 
the  most  complicated  and  more  remote  inclinations,  everything 
is,  as  we  are  convinced,  formed  from  these  two  elements:  the 
tendencies  and  inner  evaluating  principles  proceeding  from  the 
elementary  faculties,  and  the  objective  relations  or  the  material 
proceeding  from  impressions.  But  the  united  action  of  these 
two  classes  of  constituents  can  take  place  in  various  relations. 
If  we  attempt  to  characterize  these  relations  more  definitely, 
there  result  five  fundamental  moments  or,  as  they  may  be  termed, 
practical  categories,  to  which  all  relations  of  gradation  in  good 
and  evil  may  be  referred.  They  are: 

I.  The  nature  of  the  elementary  faculties. 

II.  The  development  of , the  various  elementary  faculties 
through  impressions. 

III.  The  grade  of  multiplicity  in  the  elementary  products 
formed  in  this  way. 

IV.  The  duration  of  these  products. 

V.  The  purity  of  these  products. 

Wherever  we  make  the  affirmation  that  one  good  or  evil  accord- 


THE  NATURAL  SYSTEM  OF  MORALS  635 

ing  to  the  true  (universally  valid  and  moral)  value  is  greater  or 
less  than  another,  we  must  justify  this  affirmation  with  reference 
to  one  or  more  of  these  five  moments.  The  fundamental  prob- 
lem involved,  is  to  determine  the  practical  truth  of  sensations, 
valuations,  tendencies ; and  the  five  moments  designated  are  basal 
for  these.  If  we  affirm,  therefore,  that  a sensation,  valuation,  or 
tendency  directed  towards  one  certain  good  in  conformity  with 
practical  truth,  must  be  a higher  product  than  that  directed 
towards  another  good,  we  must  produce  the  proof  for  this  affir- 
mation by  an  appeal  to  these  moments.  If  the  moral  gradation 
is  a product  of  human  nature,  it  must  be  derivable  wholly  from 
the  fundamental  relations  thereof. 

We  now  take  up  these  moments  in  succession,  pointing  out 
specifically  under  each  of  them  their  most  universal  and  impor- 
tant consequences, 

I.  The  nature  of  the  elementary  faculties. 

When  we  compare  the  elementary  faculties  of  the  various 
fundamental  systems  of  human  existence  with  one  another,  psy- 
chological analysis  reveals  a constant  gradation  in  reference  to 
the  strength  with  which  they  receive,  assimilate,  and  elaborate 
the  external  impressions.  Naturally  the  greater  this  strength,  the 
more  complete  must  be  the  products,  and  the  more  perfectly 
must  these  products  persist  in  the  inner  essence  of  the  soul,  and 
enter  as  constituents  into  later  developments.  Moreover,  one 
must  realize  that  this  relation  exhibits  itself  as  active  from  the 
first  moment  of  life,  and  that  for  this  reason  the  efficiency  of  the 
elementary  products  must  very  soon  be  increased  a thousandfold 
and  ten  thousandfold.  Hence  the  extraordinary  variety  of  re- 
sults which  the  different  fundamental  systems  of  human  existence 
permit  in  the  further  course  of  their  development.  If  one  scru- 
tinizes all  the  sciences  relating  to  external  nature,  one  will  find 
nine  tenths  or  even  more  of  their  predicates  refer  to  visible 
qualities.  Why  is  this  ? Is  there  not  in  the  world  just  as  much  to 
hear,  to  smell,  to  taste,  and  to  touch,  as  there  is  to  see?  Why, 
then,  have  we  not  developed  from  the  qualities  made  perceptible 
through  the  other  senses  as  many  scientific  concepts,  and  upon 
the  basis  of  these  as  much  scientific  knowledge?  And  why  not 


636  FRIEDRICH  EDUARD  BENEKE 

just  as  clear  and  definite  knowledge?  The  fundamental  appre- 
hension of  objects  is  entirely  the  same  with  the  one  as  with  the 
others.  If  we  designate  the  sense  of  vision  as  objective,  there 
is  not  the  least  ground  for  designating  the  remaining  senses  as 
subjective.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  probably  the  case  that  sight  with 
its  greater  activity  incorporates  in  its  apprehension  of  objects 
rather  more  than  less  of  the  elements  or  forms  belonging  to  itself 
(and  thus  subjective).  Whence,  therefore,  comes  the  great  pre- 
ference here  indicated  for  the  products  of  the  sense  of  sight?  It 
is  merely  owing  to  the  greater  vigor  of  its  elementary  faculties. 
By  this  means  the  impressions  of  objects  are  seized,  retained, 
and  reproduced  more  powerfully  even  in  the  first  sensations,  and 
consequently  enter  likewise  more  deeply  into  the  later  percep- 
tions, memories,  and  imaginations  accompanying  them,  as  well 
as  into  the  processes  of  abstraction.  In  this  way,  as  already 
remarked,  that  preference  which  originally  appears  insignificant 
must  soon  become  increased  a thousandfold  and  culminate  in  the 
designated  relation. ‘ But  this  preference  holds  not  only  for  the 
intellectual,  but  also  for  the  practical  development.  If  in  the  for- 
mer respect  we  style  the  senses  of  sight  and  of  hearing  higher,  and 
the  others  lower  senses,  in  the  latter  respect  we  designate  the  first 
as  nobler,  and  the  second  as  meaner  senses ; and  we  also  affirm 
that  in  the  moral  sphere  every  man  must  prefer  the  pleasurable 
sensation  of  the  nobler  senses  (other  things  being  equal)  to  a 
pleasurable  sensation  of  the  lower  senses,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
rudimentary  feelings  (of  heat,  etc.).  Why  is  this?  Simply  because 
the  elementary  faculties  involved  in  the  first  possess  greater  vigor, 
and  consequently  the  entire  act  must  receive  thereby  greater 
intensification.  Whoever,  therefore,  normally  cultivates  both 
kinds  of  pleasurable  sensations  must  develop  them  in  this  rela- 
tion of  higher  and  lower  intensity.  The  preference  exacted  by 
the  moral  demands  is  none  other  than  the  natural,  or  that  condi- 
tioned by  the  real  essence  of  the  human  soul.  It  is  precisely  the 
same  also  with  reference  to  the  sensations  of  aversion  {Unlust). 
W'e  demand  that  the  sensations  of  aversion  connected  with  the 
sense  of  taste  or  of  smell  should  be  regarded  by  every  one  as  lower 

‘ Beneke’s  Psychologische  Skizzen,  Bd.  II.  pp.  166  £f.  and  X.  299  £f. 


THE  NATURAL  SYSTEM  OF  MORALS  637 

than  those  of  the  nobler  senses,  and  the  disturbances  or  dangers 
which  befall  the  mere  bodily  existence  as  still  lower.  This  is  true 
because  in  conformity  with  the  fundamental  norm  of  human 
nature,  the  energy  of  the  elementary  faculties  gets  lower  and 
lower  as  you  descend  to  these  systems,  and  as  a consequence  the 
sensations  connected  with  them,  if  they  are  normally  formed, 
must  be  formed  on  a lower  scale. 

II.  The  development  of  the  various  elementary  faculties 
through  the  impressions. 

The  general  fundamental  relation  is  very  simple.  The  more 
complete  this  development,  the  higher  are  the  increase  and  the 
value  of  what  is  represented  thereby.  This  finds  its  application 
in  a great  number  of  more  special  relationships. 

An  appropriately  fulfilled  or  realized  elementary  faculty  is  to 
be  valued  higher  than  the  same  faculty  while  it  is  still  unfulfilled, 
i.  e.,  mere  capacity,  mere  power.  The  unfulfilled  elementary  fac- 
ulties strive  for  realization.  For  instance,  the  elementary  fac- 
ulties of  the  sense  of  sight  seek  for  the  stimulation  of  light,  those 
of  the  sense  of  hearing  for  the  stimulation  of  sound,  etc.,  inasmuch 
as  they  have  not  as  yet  attained  their  destiny,  their  completed  ex- 
istence. Only  the  fulfilment,  and  the  development  conditioned  by 
it,  give  to  them  the  full  reality  of  which  they  are  capable,  and  these 
we  must  certainly  regard  as  good  things.  The  same  relation  holds 
true  also  in  reference  to  all  developed  powders  or  faculties,  in  so 
far  as  the  development  of  these  into  states  of  activity  (or  mani- 
festations of  power)  depends  upon  an  enhancement  due  to  the 
transference  either  of  impulses  or  of  capacities.  A power  habit- 
ually used,  whether  of  memory,  of  understanding,  of  fancy,  or  of 
meditation,  is  therefore  to  be  valued  higher  than  one  unused, 
just  because  the  former  possesses  by  comparison  with  the  latter 
a more  enhanced  psychical  existence.  For  this  reason  we  regard 
it  a reproach  against  any  one  to  say,  he  has  permitted  his  facul- 
ties to  remain  unused.  In  the  moral  judgment,  use  of  a faculty 
is  higher,  because  use  is  naturally  (psychically)  higher.  We  can 
proceed  even  a step  further.  In  every  act  of  becoming  conscious, 
a part  of  the  elements  of  consciousness  employed  becomes  per- 
manently assimilated,  and  the  inner  capacity  or  power  returns 


638  FRIEDRICH  EDUARD  BENEKE 

enriched  to  the  extent  of  these  into  the  unconscious  beingd  The 
result  therefore  is  that  the  value  even  of  the  powers  {Anlagen), 
themselves,  increases  in  the  measure  of  the  frequency  of  their 
use ; or  that  a much  used  capacity  is  (other  things-  being  equal) 
of  higher  worth  than  one  little  used. 

A further  result  is  that  every  excitation  or  fulfilment  of  func- 
tion is  the  more  valuable  the  more  enhanced  it  is,  except  indeed 
it  be  excessive.  The  fully  adequate  excitation,  which  forms  the 
basis  of  the  clear  perception,  or  of  the  gratifying  sensation,  is 
consequently  to  be  preferred  to  the  inadequate  stimulant  or 
excitation  of  aversion  {Unlust)',  and  the  excitation  of  desire 
{Lust) , regarded  at  least  for  itself,  is  to  be  preferred  to  the  merely 
adequate  (or  the  ordinary  mean)  excitation. 

Furthermore,  as  pain  is  a greater  evil  than  aversion  and  ennui, 
its  removal  is  also  a greater  good.  For  pain  as  the  result  im- 
mediately following  upon  an  over-excitement  directly  causes  a 
weakening,  and  even  in  many  cases  the  destruction  of  the  powers 
affected  by  it;  but  aversion  does  so  more  rarely  and  more  slowly; 
ennui  never,  at  least  immediately. 

The  satisfaction  of  the  stimulus  or  gratification  is  a good,  so 
much  the  greater  as  the  need  was  greater  or  more  pressing.  Con- 
sider the  necessity  of  food  to  one  who  is  dying  of  starvation,  or 
even  only  to  one  who  has  become  hungry  as  the  result  of  con- 
tinued activity  and  exertion.  There  is  a greater  difference  be- 
tween the  unrealized  and  the  realized  elementary  faculties  than 
in  the  other  cases.  It  is  therefore  better  to  feed  the  hungry  than 
those  who  are  not  hungry;  and  this  also  is  true  not  only  of 
bodily,  but  likewise  of  intellectual  hunger.  Furthermore,  the  ap- 
propriate excitation  or  fulfilment  of  the  elementary  faculties  in 
relation  to  the  unrealized  is  a greater  good  than  is  the  increase 
of  pleasure  in  relation  to  the  common,  mean  development.  Even 
if  the  immediately  given  proportion  of  increase  is  the  same  in 
both  cases,  the  results  nevertheless  are  not  similar;  for  the  non- 
realization (or  an  imperfect  realization)  occasions,  if  not  imme- 
diately, at  least  for  the  future  and  gradually,  a deterioration  of 
the  faculty.  On  the  other  hand,  in  the  common,  mean  realization, 

* Beneke’s  Psychologische  Skizzen,  Bd.  I.  pp.  12 1 f. 


THE  NATURAL  SYSTEM  OF  MORALS  639 

a certain  satisfaction  is  afforded,  and  the  “trace”  remaining 
from  it  increases  the  vigor.  It  is  better  to  give  to  one  who  has 
not,  than  to  provide  an  excess  for  one  who  has. 

A newly  acquired  excitation  is  to  be  regarded  in  and  for  itself 
higher  than  one  merely  reproduced ; the  latter,  however,  in  pro- 
portion as  the  reproduction  is  more  perfect.  The  reproduction  is 
most  perfectly  accomplished  by  the  precisely  appropriate  fulfil- 
ments, such  as  lie  at  the  basis  of  clear  mental  representations;  and 
in  this  respect  these  are  given  a certain  preference  even  to  the 
excitations  of  pleasure,  which,  although  they  are  raised  higher 
in  the  immediate  development,  nevertheless  are  retained  and 
reproduced  less  perfectly.  The  more  recent  mental  image  and 
sensation,  the  more  vivid  memory,  the  concept  reproduced  with 
more  complete  consciousness,  etc.,  are  of  more  value  than  the  less 
recent,  less  vivid,  and  less  fully  reproduced.  The  withdrawal  of 
a good  is  a greater  evil  than  the  non-attainment  of  one  merely 
expected ; the  latter  again  is  a greater  evil  than  the  non-attain- 
ment of  one  not  expected. 

III.  The  grade  of  multiplicity  in  the  elementary  products 
formed  in  this  way. 

Heretofore  we  have  considered  the  most  elementary  products, 
in  which  indeed  only  a few  relations  of  comparison  could  be 
made.  With  this  moment  a wider  field  is  opened  for  comparison. 

Here  again  the  fundamental  relation  is  very  simple.  Each 
development  is  of  higher  value  in  proportion  to  the  number  of 
its  elementary  constituents;  for  by  just  so  much  is  its  psychic 
reality  more  extended  and  will  it  therefore  be  made  to  contain 
a higher  intensity. 

This  holds  true  in  the  first  instance  in  regard  to  all  relations  of 
homogeneous  multiplicity.  Thought  is  of  higher  value  than  the 
particular  presentation.  For  the  concept  is  formed  by  the  mani- 
fold coalescence  of  homogeneous  elements  of  presentation,  and 
in  it,  (and  in  consequence  of  this  fact  in  all  the  developments  in 
which  it  enters  as  a constituent) , the  elements  of  presentation  are 
likewise  manifoldly  contained ; whereas  these  exist  only  singly  in 
the  particular  presentations.  Suppose  in  the  formation  of  a con- 
cept concerning  the  character  of  a natural  prodiict  there  were 


640  FRIEDRICH  EDUARD  BENEKE 

twenty  presentations  of  this  character  merged  together ; then  the 
concept  is  developed  by  the  fusion  of  the  similar  elements  of  pre- 
sentation given  in  all  these  into  one  total  act.  This  total  act  will 
consequently  contain  in  itself  twenty  times  what  each  particular 
one  of  these  presentations  added  to  it  singly.  Therefore  in  gen- 
eral we  have  the  higher  value  of  the  psychical  or  of  the  intellectual, 
in  comparison  with  the  non-psychical  or  non- intellectual.  For 
this  reason  also  the  higher  concept  has  more  value  than  the  lower 
(in  that  the  former  contains  manifoldly  the  presentation  of  the 
latter) ; the  judgment  (other  things  being  equal)  has  more  value 
than  the  concept;  and  the  inference  has  more  value  than  the 
judgment.  The  universal  judgment  has  more  value  than  the  par- 
ticular and  individual ; the  explanation  and  the  classification  have 
more  value  than  the  ordinary  judgments,  since  the  former  indeed 
arise  through  the  coalescence  of  several  simple  judgments.  Thus 
we  might  continue  up  to  the  most  perfect  scientific  system,  and 
we  shall  always  have  the  homogeneous  presentation  becoming 
more  and  more  manifold.  Further,  the  more  clearly  a particular 
concept  is  thought,  so  much  the  higher  is  its  value ; for  the  de- 
gree of  clearness  depends  precisely  upon  the  degree  of  multipli- 
city. The  clearer  insight  is  to  be  preferred  to  the  less  clear,  and 
the  clearer  thinking  man  to  one  of  less  clear  thought.  It  is  pre- 
cisely similar  with  reference  to  the  remaining  products.  Where 
the  choice  is  open  to  us,  we  prefer  giving  a pleasure  or  supplying 
an  artistic  treat  to  the  more  appreciative.  For  they  bring  more 
homogeneous  powers  of  feeling  to  the  enjoyment,  and  conse- 
quently will  have  from  it  a higher  pleasure  than  those  who  have 
less  appreciation. 

We  proceed  next  to  the  heterogeneous  multiplicity  of  the  pre- 
sentation. As  previously  we  had  an  intensive  enhancement,  here 
we  have  an  extensive  one.  The  greater  the  number  of  dissimilar 
presentations  combined  in  a single  act,  of  so  much  the  higher 
is  its  value.  By  this  principle  is  determined  the  value  of  know- 
ledge of  every  kind,  as  the  value  of  learning,  of  intelligence,  of 
cleverness.  Numerous  other  relations  are  also  to  be  mentioned 
here.  Concepts,  judgments,  inferences,  etc.,  are  to  be  esteemed 
the  more  highjy  the  more  fruitful  they  are.  For  in  the  case  of 


THE  NATURAL  SYSTEM  OF  MORALS  641 


concepts,  fruitfulness  originates  from  the  manner  in  which  par- 
ticulars coalesce  to  form  them ; and  the  more  particulars  there 
are,  the  more  intensified  must  be  the  development  as  a whole. 

This  multiplicity  of  the  heterogeneous  proves  true  further  in 
reference  to  the  relation  of  ends  and  means.  The  more  ends  that 
can  be  attained  through  something  and  the  more  numerous  its 
favorable  consequences,  the  more  valuable  it  is ; for  so  many  more 
enhancements  are  of  course  united  in  and  with  it.  We  naturally 
give  the  preference  to  the  more  manifoldly  over  the  less  mani- 
foldly serviceable. 

Closely  connected  with  this,  is  the  transference  of  the  enhance- 
ments and  depressions  from  any  one  system  of  our  being  to 
others  associated  with  it.  For  example,  from  it  is  to  be  derived 
the  high  value  of  health.  Health  in  and  for  itself  is  related  of 
course  only  to  the  common  vital  systems,  that  is  to  say,  to  the 
lowest  fundamental  systems  of  human  existence.  It  could  there- 
fore (accotding  to  moment  I)  have  only  a small  value  attributed 
to  it.  But  in  this  mundane  life  the  psychical  systems  are  so  in- 
timately connected  with  the  vital  systems,  that  the  former  must 
constantly  draw  sustenance  from  the  latter,  and  therefore  the 
success  of  all  our  psychical  activities  depends  in  great  measure 
upon  the  degree  and  kind  of  nourishment  which  is  imparted  to 
them  by  the  bodily  functions.  To  the  health  of  these  we  are  thus 
compelled  to  ascribe  a very  high  value,  inasmuch  as  we  depend 
upon  the  continued  transference  of  their  energy. 

There  are  two  other  relations  of  this  kind.  The  one  is  the 
union  of  many  interests  for  the  same  individual,  and  the  other 
is  the  union  of  the  interests  of  many  individuals.  Wherefore  is 
the  interest  of  each  group  of  mankind  (of  the  family,  of  a corpora- 
tion, of  a nation,  etc.)  to  be  esteemed  a great  deal  higher  than  the 
similar  interests  of  individuals?  And  why  is  the  interest  of  the 
human  race  to  be  esteemed  the  highest  of  all?  Only  because 
the  precedence  of  humanity  is  occasioned  by  its  natural  relations 
of  development,  and  because  every  one  who  conceives  these  in 
their  true  light  must  view  them  in  these  gradations.  For  the  in- 
terest of  a larger  body  of  men  is  nothing  but  a multiplication 
of  the  interest  of  the  individual.  And  therefore  in  the  normal 


642  FRIEDRICH  EDUARD  BENEKE 

production  of  sensation,  thought,  and  volition,  the  interest  must 
exhibit  itself  as  a thing  manifold  in  the  way  we  have  described, 
and  accordingly  by  far  the  higher  and  stronger. 

IV.  The  duration  of  these  products. 

The  duration  can  be  conditioned  objectively,  (through  the 
character  of  the  impressions,  circumstances,  relations,  etc.) , and 
also  subjectively. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  enlarge  upon  the  objective  further. 
The  longer  time  a satisfaction,  an  enjoyment,  or  an  opportunity 
to  inform,  to  enlighten,  and  to  instruct  one’s  self,  continues,  the 
greater  goods  they  become.  The  longer  duration  indeed  affords 
more  of  enhancement,  and  must  be  felt,  thought,  and  striven  for, 
with  this  increase. 

The  subjectively  conditioned  duration  is  of  greater  significance, 
and  thus  needs  more  elucidation.  From  this  relation  there  arises, 
as  we  have  previously  pointed  out,  the  higher  value  of  all  inner 
characteristics  or  capacities,  such  as  accomplishments,  talents, 
skill,  qualities  of  heart  and  character,  in  comparison  with  the 
individual  conscious  developments.  Insight  and  clearness  of 
mind  are  of  more  value  than  a single  clear  concept  which  we  have 
formed  by  foreign  aid,  or  even  by  ourselves  accidentally;  clever- 
ness of  greater  value  than  a clever  plan ; a contented  spirit  than 
any  piece  of  good  fortune  which  can  befall  us;  resolution  and 
strength  of  character  higher  than  any  combination  of  circum- 
stances which  would  render  them  unnecessary.  How  is  this,  since 
nevertheless,  as  we  previously  remarked,  the  conscious  or  ani- 
mated being  of  the  soul  is  in  and  of  itself  of  higher  worth  than 
the  unconscious  inner  essence?  Simply  because  the  objective 
things  contain  only  transitory  enhancements,  while  the  subjective 
capacities  contain  permanent  ones.  Of  course,  in  so  far  as  the 
native  capacities  enter  into  the  conscious  development,  this 
stands  higher,  inasmuch  as  in  addition  to  the  transitory,  it  con- 
tains at  the  same  time  the  permanent.  But  we  have  here  placed 
the  inner  capacities  in  comparison  not  with  their  own  conscious 
developments,  but  with  the  particular  or  simple  developments 
which  belong  to  the  same  species.  Now  psychology  shows  that 
those  capacities  {Anlagen)  are  the  product  of  a large  number  of 


THE  NATURAL  SYSTEM  OF  MORALS  643 

these  developments,  which  have  been  established  by  means  of 
the  traces  they  have  left.  Insight  and  clearness  of  mind  arise  only 
from  the  traces  of  very  many  clear  and  correct  concepts,  judg- 
ments, etc. ; prudence  only  from  the  traces  of  a great  number  of 
series  of  ideas,  in  which  the  relations  of  ends  and  means  have  been 
accurately  reflected;  a contented  spirit  from  very  many  appro- 
priate traces  of  products  of  enhancements.  We  have  therefore 
psychical  realities  which  are  of  greater  extent  and  more  perfect 
development,  and  which  for  that  very  reason,  when  they  are 
rightly  felt,  thought,  and  pursued,  must  also  be  felt,  thought,  and 
pursued  with  higher  intensity. 

One  readily  perceives  that  this  moment  can  in  a certain 
measure  be  resolved  into  the  earlier  ones.  If  these  capacities  are 
to  be  well  founded,  vigorous  developments  created  by  the  ele- 
mentary faculties,  and  under  appropriate  conditions  of  excita- 
tion, must  leave  behind  traces  of  appropriate  perfection,  and  this 
in  some  way  must  be  many  times  repeated.  But  we  still  have 
something  characteristic  that  is  not  reducible  to  the  moments 
previously  considered,  and  that  is  the  characteristic  fusion,  as- 
similation, penetration,  by  which  these  numerous  traces  become 
a total  capacity,  (to  be  sure  not  in  all  cases  in  the  same  measure). 
And  this  relation  contributes  not  a little  to  the  powerful  persist- 
ence, or  to  the  longer  duration  of  the  capacity. 

With  this  problem  is  connected  still  another  important  relation 
of  enhancement,  which  arises  from  the  combination  of  the  values 
belonging  to  the  inner  characteristics  with  those  belonging  to  the 
transitory  furtherances  (or  states).  All  enhancements  thus  are 
undoubtedly  to  be  more  highly  valued  according  as  the  inner 
worth  of  the  persons  whom  they  aflect  is  greater,  and  to  be  valued 
lower  according  as  this  worth  is  slighter.  All  depressions  are 
in  the  former  relation  greater,  and  in  the  latter  lesser,  evils.  Just 
as  we  had  in  the  previously  considered  moments,  additions,  as  it 
were,  of  elementary  enhancements,  so  we  have  here  in  some 
measure  a relation  of  multiplication.  In  other  words,  by  means 
of  the  subjective  factor  the  value  of  the  objective  is  multiplied 
in  a measure  proportionate  to  the  worth  of  the  former.  Be- 
sides every  furtherance  imparts  force  or  power ; every  inhibition 


644  FRIEDRICH  EDUARD  BENEKE 

diminishes  the  same.  When  we  apportion,  therefore,  good  to  the 
good  we  pave  the  way  for  a further  continued  operation  of  the 
good.  In  the  relation  previously  considered  there  results  for  the 
furtherance  applied  to  evil  something  like  a relation  of  division. 
The  point  of  view  just  mentioned  shows  us  still  more.  Through 
the  furtherances  we  should  in  many  cases  increase  the  force  or 
power  of  evil  in  the  world;  and  thus,  then,  the  furtherances  of 
evil  are  in  most  instances  to  be  regarded  as  actually  evil ; and 
the  hindrances  or  suppression  of  evil  as  something  good.  Here, 
therefore,  we  have  a reversal  of  the  character  of  value.  By  the 
entrance  of  a negative  quantity  the  whole  product  becomes  nega- 
tive, (or  where  a negative  quantity  is  already  present,  the  product 
becomes  positive).  Later  we  shall  recognize  these  relations  as 
the  moral  foundation  for  rewards  and  punishments. 

V.  The  purity  of  these  products. 

The  fundamental  relation  here  again  is  very  simple.  If  we 
have  an  enhancement  that  is  not  pure,  and  if  there  is  given  in 
addition  to  it  a depression  (whether  this  be  accidentally  or  neces- 
sarily and  essentially  combined  with  it),  the  former  becomes  in 
this  way  to  the  same  degree  a good  of  less  value;  and  precisely 
the  reverse  in  reference  to  evil. 

A characteristic  application  here  follows  for  the  relation  of 
good  and  evil,  whether  immediately  present  or  to  be  expected  in 
the  nearer  or  more  remote  future.  The  things  of  the  future, 
moreover,  may  not  come  to  pass : they  are,  in  view  of  the  uncer- 
tainty of  earthly  relations,  even  in  the  most  favorable  case  subject 
to  no  more  than  the  highest  degree  of  probability.  The  probable, 
however,  we  postulate  (and  we  feel  and  strive  after  accordingly) , 
inasmuch  as  several  series  of  ideas  run  parallel  in  our  minds,  of 
which  one  or  more  have  as  their  final  member  the  good  or  evil  in 
question,  and  the  remaining,  one  or  more,  the  opposite.  We  have, 
therefore,  no  pure  sensation  or  idea  of  this  good  or  evil ; and  in 
precisely  the  measure  that  it  is  limited  or  impaired  (neutralized 
by  the  opposite) , a slighter  value  is  to  be  attributed  to  the  good ; 
and  the  evil  is  less  to  be  resisted. 

In  this  way,  therefore,  the  gradations  of  good  and  evil  demanded 
in  morals  can  be  traced  back  with  a high  degree  of  certainty  to 


THE  NATURAL  SYSTEM  OF  MORALS  645 

the  quantitative  relations  given  in  the  deepest  foundations  of  our 
practical  development.  There  has  thus  been  confirmed  beyond 
question  what  we  had  earlier  expressed  as  hardly  more  than  a 
supposition;  that  morality  is  by  no  means  a thing  foreign  to 
human  nature,  entering  into  it  only  afterwards,  or  even  as  in 
opposition  to  it.  On  the  contrary,  the  moral  and  the  natural  coin- 
cide throughout,  and  the  moral  law  is  in  fact  none  other  than  the 
pure  and  flawless  development  of  the  deepest  fundamental  rela- 
tions of  human  existence.  What  immediate  consciousness  itself 
reveals  to  the  unprejudiced  and  clearly  introspecting  person,  is 
confirmed  with  the  greatest  definiteness  and  certainty  by  a psy- 
chological analysis  carried  to  the  simplest  fundamental  elements ; 
and  psychology  thereby  proves  itself  to  be  the  essential  funda- 
mental science,  or  a mathematics  of  morals.  The  given  construc- 
tions are  of  such  a nature  that  if  we  had  a fixed  fundamental 
standard  for  the  psychical,  all  moral  relations  could  be  accu- 
rately calculated.  To  be  sure  we  have  no  such  standard  and  must 
for  that  reason  dispense  with  this  calculation.  Nevertheless,  as 
great  definiteness  and  sharpness  as  ever  can  be  acquired  without 
this  standard  we  have  by  means  of  these  constructions  undoubt- 
edly attained. 

We  are  now  also  in  a position  to  present  in  the  clearest  light  the 
nature  of  the  necessity  and  universal  validity  which  are  character- 
istic of  the  moral  demands,  and  which  heretofore  we  have  been 
compelled  to  leave  in  a certain  obscurity.  What  does  it  mean 
when  we  say  that  every  one  must  value  the  intellectual  higher 
than  the  sensuous,  the  well-being  of  a greater  community  higher 
than  one’s  own  limited  welfare?  And  of  what  nature  is  this 
universal  validity,  which  doubtless  is  by  no  means  regarded  as 
universal?  This  necessity,  which  yet  so  often  does  not  occur? 
We  answer,  the  universal  validity  consists  in  the  fact  that  the 
gradation  we  have  described  is  actually  inherent  in  all  men  in  the 
same  way,  through  the  fundamental  relations  of  their  practical 
development.  But  besides'  these  fundamental  relations  there 
exist  other  relations  which  can  prevent  and  destroy  this  develop- 
ment; and  if  this  occurs,  the  result  is  that  the  universal  and 
similar  native  endowment  is  nevertheless  not  universally  and 


646  FRIEDRICH  EDUARD  BENEKE 

similarly  manifested  in  action.  And  it  is  this  also  that  limits  ne- 
cessity. Moral  necessity  is,  to  be  sure,  in  some  measure  at  the 
same  time  a natural  necessity ; and  what  is  more,  the  necessity  of 
the  deepest  natural  relations  of  our  practical  development.  But 
it  is  the  necessity  of  the  untrammelled  and  pure  (one  might  say, 
ideal)  natural  development,  and  in  so  far  it  is  indeed  only  a 
limited  and  conditioned  necessity.  Throughout  all  corrupting 
accretions,  however,  and  in  contrast  to  these,  that  original  neces- 
city  of  nature  does  for  the  most  part  assert  itself,  and  then  it 
becomes  a moral  necessity.  In  so  far  as  these  corrupting  ac- 
cretions become  known  to  us  as  such,  that  purer  development 
becomes  a command  imperative  for  every  one  who  desires  to  be 
a man  in  the  higher  sense  of  this  word,  or  who  seeks  to  represent 
in  hijnself  the  fundamental  norm  of  human  nature  in  its  purity. 


JOHN  STUART  MILL 

(1806-1873) 

UTILITARIANISM  * 

CH AFTER  II.  WHAT  m ILITARIANISM  IS 

A PASSING  remark  is  all  that  needs  be  given  to  the  ignorant 
blunder  of  supposing  that  those  who  stand  up  for  utility  as  the 
test  of  right  and  wrong,  use  the  term  in  that  restricted  and  merely 
colloquial  sense  in  which  utility  is  opposed  to  pleasure.  An 
apology  is  due  to  the  philosophical  opponents  of  utilitarianism, 
for  even  the  momentary  appearance  of  confounding  them  with 
any  one  capable  of  so  absurd  a misconception ; which  is  the  more 
extraordinary,  inasmuch  as  the  contrary  accusation,  of  referring 
everything  to  pleasure,  and  that  too  in  its  grossest  form,  is  an- 
' other  of  the  common  charges  against  utilitarianism;  and,  as  has 
been  pointedly  remarked  by  an  able  writer,  the  same  sort  of  per- 
sons, and  often  the  very  same  persons,  denounce  the  theory  “as 
impracticably  dry  when  the  word  utility  precedes  the  word  plea- 
sure, and  as  too  practicably  voluptuous  when  the  word  pleasure 
precedes  the  word  utility.”  Those  who  know  anything  about  the 
matter  are  aware  that  every  writer,  from  Epicurus  to  Bentham, 
Vv^ho  maintained  the  theory  of  utility,  meant  by  it,  not  some- 
thing to  be  contra-distinguished  from  pleasure,  but  pleasure 
itself,  together  with  exemption  from  pain ; and  instead  of  oppos- 
ing the  useful  to  the  agreeable  or  the  ornamental,  have  always 
declared  that  the  useful  means  these,  among  other  things.  Yet 
the  common  herd,  including  the  herd  of  writers,  not  only  in  news- 
papers and  periodicals,  but  in  books  of  weight  and  pretension, 
are  perpetually  falling  into  this  shallow  mistake.  Having  caught 
up  the  word  utilitarian,  while  knowing  nothing  whatever  about 
it  but  its  sound,  they  habitually  express  by  it  the  rejection,  or  the 
neglect,  of  pleasure  in  some  of  its  forms;  of  beauty,  of  ornament, 
or  of  amusement.  Nor  is  the  term  thus  ignorantly  misapplied 
* London,  1863 ; 12th  ed.  1895. 


648  JOHN  STUART  MILL 

solely  in  disparagement,  but  occasionally  in  compliment;  as 
though  it  implied  superiority  to  frivolity  and  the  mere  pleasures 
of  the  moment.  And  this  perverted  use  is  the  only  one  in  which 
the  word  is  popularly  known,  and  the  one  from  which  the  new 
generation  are  acquiring  their  sole  notion  of  its  meaning.  Those 
who  introduced  the  word,  but  who  had  for  many  years  discon- 
tinued it  as  a distinctive  appellation,  may  well  feel  themselves 
called  upon  to  resume  it,  if  by  doing  so  they  can  hope  to  contrib- 
ute anything  towards  rescuing  it  from  this  utter  degradation.* 

The  creed  which  accepts  as  the  foundation  of  morals.  Utility,  or 
the  Greatest  Happiness  Principle,  holds  that  actions  are  right  in 
proportion  as  they  tend  to  promote  happiness,  wrong  as  they  tend 
to  produce  the  reverse  of  happiness.  By  happiness  is  intended 
pleasure,  and  the  absence  of  pain;  by  unhappiness,  pain,  and  the 
privation  of  pleasure.  To  give  a clear  view  of  the  moral  standard 
set  up  by  the  theory,  much  more  requires  to  be  said ; in  particular 
what  things  it  includes  in  the  ideas  of  pain  and  pleasure;  and  to 
what  extent  this  is  left  an  open  question.  But  these  supplemen- 
tary explanations  do  not  affect  the  theory  of  life  on  which  this 
theory  of  morality  is  grounded,  — namely,  that  pleasure,  and 
freedom  from  pain,  are  the  only  things  desirable  as  ends ; and 
that  all  desirable  things  (which  are  as  numerous  in  the  utilita- 
rian as  in  any  other  scheme)  are  desirable  either  for  the  pleasure 
inherent  in  themselves,  or  as  means  to  the  promotion  of  plea- 
sure and  the  prevention  of  pain. 

Now,  such  a theory  of  life  excites  in  many  minds,  and  among 
them  in  some  of  the  most  estimable  in  feeling  and  purpose, 
inveterate  dislike.  To  suppose  that  life  has  (as  they  express  it) 
no  higher  end  than  pleasure,  — no  better  and  nobler  object  of 
desire  and  pursuit,  — they  designate  as  utterly  mean  and  grovel- 

^ The  author  of  this  essay  has  reason  for  believing  himself  to  be  the  first  person 
who  brought  the  word  utilitarian  into  use.  He  did  not  invent  it,  but  adapted 
it  from  a passing  expression  in  Mr.  Galt’s  Annals  of  the  Parish.  After  using  it 
as  a designation  for  several  years,  he  and  others  abandoned  it  from  a growing 
dislike  to  anything  resembling  a badge  or  watchword  of  sectarian  distinction. 
But  as  a name  for  one  single  opinion,  not  a set  of  opinions,  — to  denote  the  recog- 
nition of  utility  as  a standard,  not  any  particular  way  of  applying  it,  — the  term 
supplies  a want  in  the  language,  and  offers,  in  many  cases,  a convenient  mode 
of  avoiding  tiresome  circumlocution. 


UTILITARIANISM 


649 

ling ; as  a doctrine  worthy  only  of  swine,  to  whom  the  followers 
of  Epicurus  were,  at  a very  early  period,  contemptuously  likened; 
and  modern  holders  of  the  doctrine  are  occasionally  made  the 
subject  of  equally  polite  comparisons  by  its  German,  French, 
and  English  assailants. 

When  thus  attacked,  the  Epicureans  have  always  answered, 
that  it  is  not  they,  but  their  accusers,  who  represent  human 
nature  in  a degrading  light ; since  the  accusation  supposes  human 
beings  to  be  capable  of  no  pleasures  except  those  of  which  swine 
are  capable.  If  this  supposition  were  true,  the  charge  could  not 
be  gainsaid,  but  would  then  be  no  longer  an  imputation ; for  if  the 
sources  of  pleasure  were  precisely  the  same  to  human  beings  and 
to  swine,  the  rule  of  life  which  is  good  enough  for  the  one  would 
be  good  enough  for  the  other.  The  comparison  of  the  Epicurean 
life  to  that  of  beasts  is  felt  as  degrading,  precisely  because  a 
beast’s  pleasures  do  not  satisfy  a human  being’s  conceptions  of 
happiness.  Human  beings  have  faculties  more  elevated  than  the 
animal  appetites,  and  when  once  made  conscious  of  them,  do 
not  regard  anything  as  happiness  which  does  not  include  their 
gratification.  I do  not  indeed,  consider  the  Epicureans  to  have 
been  by  any  means  faultless  in  drawing  out  their  scheme  of 
consequences  from  the  utilitarian  principle.  To  do  this  in  any 
sufficient  manner,  many  Stoic,  as  well  as  Christian  elements 
require  to  be  included.  But  there  is  no  known  Epicurean  theory 
of  life  which  does  not  assign  to  the  pleasures  of  the  intellect, 
of  the  feelings  and  imagination,  and  of  the  moral  sentiments, 
a much  higher  value  as  pleasures  than  to  those  of  mere  sensa- 
tion. It  must  be  admitted,  however,  that  utilitarian  writers  in 
general  have  placed  the  superiority  of  mental  over  bodily  plea- 
sures chiefly  in  the  greater  permanency,  safety,  uncostliness, 
etc.,  of  the  former,  — that  is,  in  their  circumstantial  advantages 
rather  than  in  their  intrinsic  nature.  And  on  all  these  points 
utilitarians  have  fully  proved  their  case;  but  they  might  have 
taken  the  other,  and,  as  it  may  be  called,  higher  ground,  with 
entire  consistency.  It  is  quite  compatible  with  the  principle  of 
utility  to  recognize  the  fact,  that  some  kinds  of  pleasure  are  more 
desirable  and  more  valuable  than  others.  It  would  be  absurd  that 


650  JOHN  STUART  MILL 

while,  in  estimating  all  other  things,  quality  is  considered  a:;  well 
as  quantity,  the  estimation  of  pleasure  should  be  supposed  to 
depend  on  quantity  alone. 

If  I am  asked  what  I mean  by  difference  of  quality  in  plea- 
sures, or  what  makes  one  pleasure  more  valuable  than  another, 
merely  as  a pleasure,  except  its  being  greater  in  amount,  there  is 
but  one  possible  answer.  Of  two  pleasures,  if  there  be  one  to 
which  all  or  almost  all  who  have  experience  of  both  give  a decided 
preference,  irrespective  of  any  feeling  of  moral  obligation  to  prefer 
it,  that  is  the  more  desirable  pleasure.  If  one  of  the  tv/o  is,  by 
those  who  are  competently  acquainted  with  both,  placed  so  far 
above  the  other  that  they  prefer  it,  even  though  knowing  it  to  be 
attended  with  a greater  amount  of  discontent,  and  would  not 
resign  it  for  any  quantity  of  the  other  pleasure  which  their  nature 
is  capable  of,  we  are  justified  in  ascribing  to  the  preferred  enjoy- 
ment a superiority  in  quality,  so  far  outweighing  quantity  as  to 
render  it,  in  comparison,  of  small  account. 

Now  it  is  an  unquestionable  fact  that  those  who  are  equally 
acquainted  with,  and  equally  capable  of  appreciating  and  enjoy- 
ing both,  do  give  a most  marked  preference  to  the  manner  of 
existence  which  employs  their  higher  faculties.  Few  human 
creatures  would  consent  to  be  changed  into  any  of  the  lower  ani- 
mals, for  a promise  of  the  fullest  allowance  of  a beast’s  plea- 
sures; no  intelligent  human  being  would  consent  to  be  a fool,  no 
instructed  person  would  be  an  ignoramus,  no  person  of  feeling 
and  conscience  would  be  selfish  and  base,  even  though  they 
should  be  persuaded  that  the  fool,  the  dunce,  or  the  rascal  is 
better  satisfied  with  his  lot  than  they  are  with  theirs.  They  would 
not  resign  what  they  possess  more  than  he,  for  the  most  com- 
plete satisfaction  of  all  the  desires  which  they  have  in  common 
with  him.  If  they  ever  fancy  they  would,  it  is  only  in  cases  of 
unhappiness  so  extreme,  that  to  escape  from  it  they  would  ex- 
change their  lot  for  almost  any  other,  however  undesirable  in 
their  own  eyes.  A being  of  higher  faculties  requires  more  to  make 
him  happy,  is  capable  probably  of  more  acute  suffering,  and  is 
certainly  accessible  to  it  at  more  points,  than  one  of  an  inferior 
type;  but  in  spite  of  these  liabilities,  he  can  never  really  wish 


UTILITARIANISM 


651 


to  sink  into  what  he  feels  to  be  a lower  grade  of  existence.  We 
may  give  what  explanation  we  please  of  this  unwillingness;  we 
may  attribute  it  to  pride,  a name  which  is  given  indiscriminately 
to  some  of  the  most  and  to  some  of  the  least  estimable  feelings 
of  which  mankind  are  capable;  we  may  refer  it  to  the  love  of 
liberty  and  personal  independence,  an  appeal  to  which  was  with 
the  Stoics  one  of  the  most  effective  means  for  the  inculcation  of  it ; 
to  the  love  of  power,  or  to  the  love  of  excitement,  both  of  which 
do  really  enter  into  and  contribute  to  it;  but  its  most  appropriate 
appellation  is  a sense  of  dignity,  which  all  human  beings  possess 
in  one  form  or  other,  and  in  some,  though  by  no  means  in  ex- 
act, proportion  to  their  higher  faculties,  and  which  is  so  essential 
a part  of  the  happiness  of  those  in  whom  it  is  strong,  that  nothing 
which  conflicts  with  it  could  be,  otherwise  than  momentarily,  an 
object  of  desire  to  them.  Whoever  supposes  that  this  preference 
takes  place  at  a sacrifice  of  happiness  — that  the  superior  being, 
in  anything  like  equal  circumstances,  is  not  happier  than  the 
inferior  — confounds  the  two  very  different  ideas,  of  happiness 
and  content.  It  is  indisputable  that  the  being  whose  capacities 
of  enjoyment  are  low,  has  the  greatest  chance  of  having  them 
fully  satisfied ; and  a highly  endowed  being  will  always  feel  that 
any  happiness  which  he  can  look  for  as  the  world  is  constituted,  is 
imperfect.  But  he  can  learn  to  bear  its  imperfections,  if  they  are 
at  all  bearable;  and  they  will  not  make  him  envy  the  being  who 
is  indeed  unconscious  of  the  imperfections,  but  only  because 
he  feels  not  at  all  the  good  which  those  imperfections  qualify.  It 
is  better  to  be  a human  being  dissatisfied  than  a pig  satisfied ; 
better  to  be  Socrates  dissatisfied  than  a fool  satisfied.  And  if  the 
fool,  or  the  pig,  is  of  a different  opinion,  it  is  because  they  only 
know  their  own  side  of  the  question.  The  other  party  to  the  com- 
parison knows  both  sides. 

It  may  be  objected,  that  many  who  are  capable  of  the  higher 
pleasures,  occasionally,  under  the  influence  of  temptation,  post- 
pone them  to  the  lower.  But  this  is  quite  compatible  with  a full 
appreciation  of  the  intrinsic  superiority  of  the  higher.  Men 
often,  from  infirmity  of  character,  make  their  election  for  the 
nearer  good,  though  they  know  it  to  be  the  less  valuable;  and  this 


652  JOHN  STUART  MILL 

no  less  when  the  choice  is  between  two  bodily  pleasures,  than 
when  it  is  between  bodily  and  mental.  They  pursue  sensual  in- 
dulgences to  the  injury  of  health,  though  perfectly  aware  that 
health  is  the  greater  good.  It  may  be  further  objected,  that  many 
who  begin  with  youthful  enthusiasm  for  everything  noble,  as  they 
advance  in  years  sink  into  indolence  and  selfishness.  But  I do  not 
believe  that  those  who  undergo  this  very  common  change,  volun- 
tarily choose  the  lower  description  of  pleasures  in  preference  tc 
the  higher.  I believe  that  before  they  devote  themselves  exclu- 
sively to  the  one,  they  have  already  become  incapable  of  the  other. 
Capacity  for  the  nobler  feelings  is  in  most  natures  a very  tender 
plant,  easily  killed,  not  only  by  hostile  influences,  but  by  mere 
want  of  sustenance;  and  in  the  majority  of  yoimg  persons  it 
speedily  dies  away  if  the  occupation  to  which  their  position  in 
life  has  devoted  them,  and  the  society  into  which  it  has  thrown 
them,  are  not  favorable  to  keeping  that  higher  capacity  in  exer- 
cise. Men  lose  their  high  aspirations  as  they  lose  their  intellect- 
ual tastes,  because  they  have  not  time  or  opportunity  for  in- 
dulging them;  and  they  addict  themselves  to  inferior  pleasures, 
not  because  they  deliberately  prefer  them,  but  because  they  are 
either  the  only  ones  to  which  they  have  access,  or  the  only  ones 
which  they  are  any  longer  capable  of  enjoying.  It  may  be  ques- 
tioned whether  any  one  who  has  remained  equally  susceptible 
to  both  classes  of  pleasures,  ever  knowingly  and  calmly  pre- 
ferred the  lower;  though  many,  in  all  ages,  have  broken  down 
in  an  ineffectual  attempt  to  combine  both. 

From  this  verdict  of  the  only  competent  judges,  I apprehend 
there  can  be  no  appeal.  On  a question  which  is  the  best  worth 
having  of  two  pleasures,  or  which  of  two  modes  of  existence  is 
the  most  grateful  to  the  feelings,  apart  from  its  moral  attributes 
and  from  its  consequences,  the  judgment  of  those  who  are  quali- 
fied by  knowledge  of  both,  or,  if  they  differ,  that  of  the  majority 
among  them,  must  be  admitted  as  final.  And  there  needs  be  the 
less  hesitation  to  accept  this  judgment  respecting  the  quality 
of  pleasures,  since  there  is  no  other  tribunal  to  be  referred  to 
even  on  the  question  of  quantity.  What  means  are  there  of  de- 
termining which  is  the  acutest  of  two  pains,  or  the  intensest  of 


UTILITARIANISM 


653 

two  pleasurable  sensations,  except  the  general  suffrage  of  those 
who  are  familiar  with  both?  Neither  pains  nor  pleasures  are 
homogeneous,  and  pain  is  always  heterogeneous  with  pleasure. 
What  is  there  to  decide  whether  a particular  pleasure  is  worth 
purchasing  at  the  cost  of  a particular  pain,  except  the  feelings 
and  judgment  of  the  experienced?  When,  therefore,  those  feel- 
ings and  judgment  declare  the  pleasures  derived  from  the  higher 
faculties  to  be  preferable  in  kind,  apart  from  the  question  of 
intensity,  to  those  of  which  the  animal  nature,  disjoined  from  the 
higher  faculties,  is  susceptible,  they  are  entitled  on  this  subject 
to  the  same  regard. 

I have  dwelt  on  this  point,  as  being  a necessary  part  of  a per- 
fectly just  conception  of  Utility  or  Happiness,  considered  as  the 
directive  rule  of  human  conduct.  But  it  is  by  no  means  an  indis- 
pensable condition  to  the  acceptance  of  the  utilitarian  standard ; 
for  that  standard  is  not  the  agent’s  own  greatest  happiness,  but 
the  greatest  amount  of  happiness  altogether;  and  if  it  may  pos- 
sibly be  doubted  whether  a noble  character  is  always  the  happier 
for  its  nobleness,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  makes  other  peo- 
ple happier,  and  that  the  world  in  general  is  immensely  a gainer 
by  it.  Utilitarianism,  therefore,  could  only  attain  its  end  by  the 
general  cultivation  of  nobleness  of  character,  even  if  each  individ- 
ual were  only  benefited  by  the  nobleness  of  others,  and  his  own, 
so  far  as  happiness  is  concerned,  were  a sheer  deduction  from 
the  benefit.  But  the  bare  enunciation  of  such  an  absurdity  as  this 
last,  renders  refutation  superfluous. 

According  to  the  Greatest  Happiness  Principle,  as  above  ex- 
plained, the  ultimate  end,  with  reference  to  and  for  the  sake  of 
which  all  other  things  are  desirable  (whether  we  are  considering 
our  own  good  or  that  of  other  people),  is  an  existence  exempt 
as  far  as  possible  from  pain,  and  as  rich  as  possible  in  enjoy- 
ments, both  in  point  of  quantity  and  quality;  the  test  of  quality, 
and  the  rule  for  measuring  it  against  quantity,  being  the  prefer- 
ence felt  by  those  who,  in  their  opportunities  of  experience,  to  • 
which  must  be  added  their  habits  of  self-consciousness  and 
self-observation,  are  best  furnished  with  the  means  of  compari- 
son. This  being,  according  to  the  utilitarian  opinion,  the  end 


654  JOHN  STUART  MILL 

of  human  action,  is  necessarily  also  the  standard  of  morality; 
which  may  accordingly  be  defined,  the  rules  and  precepts  for 
human  conduct,  by  the  observance  of  which  an  existence  such 
as  has  been  described  might  be,  to  the  greatest  extent  possible, 
secured  to  all  mankind;  and  not  to  them  only,  but,  so  far  as  the 
nature  of  things  admits,  to  the  whole  sentient  creation. 

Against  this  doctrine,  however,  rises  another  class  of  objectors, 
who  say  that  happiness,  in  any  form,  cannot  be  the  rational 
purpose  of  human  life  and  action;  because,  in  the  first  place,  it 
is  unattainable ; and  they  contemptuously  ask,  What  right  hast 
thou  to  be  happy  ? a question  which  Mr.  Carlyle  clinches  by  the 
addition.  What  right,  a short  time  ago,  hadst  thou  even  to  he  ? 
Next,  they  say  that  men  can  do  without  happiness;  that  all  noble 
human  beings  have  felt  this,  and  could  not  have  become  noble 
but  by  learning  the  lesson  of  Entsagen,  or  renunciation;  which 
lesson,  thoroughly  learned  and  submitted  to,  they  affirm  to  be 
the  beginning  and  necessary  condition  of  all  virtue. 

The  first  of  these  objections  would  go  to  the  root  of  the  matter, 
were  it  well  founded;  for  if  no  happiness  is  to  be  had  at  all  by 
human  beings,  the  attainment  of  it  cannot  be  the  end  of  morality, 
or  of  any  rational  conduct.  Though,  even  in  that  case,  some- 
thing might  still  be  said  for  the  utilitarian  theory;  since  utility 
includes  not  solely  the  pursuit  of  happiness,  but  the  prevention 
or  mitigation  of  unhappiness;  and  if  the  former  aim  be  chimer- 
ical, there  will  be  all  the  greater  scope  and  more  imperative  need 
for  the  latter,  so  long,  at  least,  as  mankind  think  fit  to  live,  and  do 
not  take  refuge  in  the  simultaneous  act  of  suicide  recommended 
under  certain  conditions  by  Novalis.  When,  however,  it  is  thus 
positively  asserted  to  be  impossible  that  human  life  should  be 
happy,  the  assertion,  if  not  something  like  a verbal  quibble,  is 
at  least  an  exaggeration.  If  by  happiness  be  meant  a continuity 
of  highly  pleasurable  excitement,  it  is  evident  enough  that  this 
is  impossible.  A state  of  exalted  pleasure  lasts  only  moments, 
or  in  some  cases,  and  with  some  intermissions,  hours  or  days,  and 
is  the  occasional  brilliant  flash  of  enjoyment,  not  its  permanent 
and  steady  flame.  Of  this  the  philosophers  who  have  taught  that 
happiness  is  the  end  of  life  were  as  fully  aware  as  those  who 


UTILITARIANISM 


655 

taunt  them.  The  happiness  which  they  meant  was  not  a life  of 
rapture;  but  moments  of  such,  in  an  existence  made  up  of  few 
and  transitory  pains,  many  and  various  pleasures,  with  a decided 
predominance  of  the  active  over  the  passive,  and  having  as  the 
foundation  of  the  whole,  not  to  expect  more  from  life  than  it  is 
capable  of  bestowdng.  A life  thus  composed,  to  those  who  have 
been  fortimate  enough  to  obtain  it,  has  always  appeared  worthy 
of  the  name  of  happiness.  And  such  an  existence  is  even  now 
the  lot  of  many,  during  some  considerable  portion  of  their  lives. 
The  present  wretched  education,  and  wretched  social  arrange- 
ments, are  the  only  real  hindrance  to  its  being  attainable  by  al- 
most all. 

The  objectors  perhaps  may  doubt  whether  human  beings,  if 
taught  to  consider  happiness  as  the  end  of  life,  would  be  satis- 
fied with  such  a moderate  share  of  it.  But  great  numbers  of 
mankind  have  been  satisfied  with  much  less.  The  main  constitu- 
ents of  a satisfied  life  appear  to  be  two,  either  of  which  by  itself 
is  often  found  sufficient  for  the  purpose : tranquillity  and  excite- 
ment. With  much  tranquillity,  many  find  that  they  can  be  con- 
tent with  very  little  pleasure;  with  much  excitement,  many  can 
reconcile  themselves  to  a considerable  quantity  of  pain.  There  is 
assuredly  no  inherent  impossibility  in  enabling  even  the  mass  of 
mankind  to  unite  both ; since  the  two  are  so  far  from  being  in- 
compatible that  they  are  in  natural  alliance,  the  prolongation  of 
either  being  a preparation  for,  and  exciting  a wish  for,  the  other. 
It  is  only  those  in  whom  indolence  amounts  to  a vice,  that  do  not 
desire  excitement  after  an  interval  of  repose;  it  is  only  those  in 
whom  the  need  of  excitement  is  a disease,  that  feel  the  tranquil- 
lity which  follows  excitement  dull  and  insipid,  instead  of  plea- 
surable in  direct  proportion  to  the  excitement  which  preceded 
it.  When  people  who  are  tolerably  fortunate  in  their  outward  lot 
do  not  find  in  life  sufficient  enjoyment  to  make  it  valuable  to 
them,  the  cause  generally  is,  caring  for  nobody  but  themselves. 
To  those  who  have  neither  public  nor  private  affections,  the  ex- 
citements of  life  are  much  curtailed,  and  in  any  case  dwindle  in 
value  as  the  time  approaches  when  all  selfish  interests  must  be 
terminated  by  death ; while  those  who  leave  after  them  objects  of 


656  JOHN  STUART  MILL 

personal  affection,  and  especially  those  who  have  also  cultivated 
a fellow-feeling  with  the  collective  interests  of  mankind,  retain 
as  lively  an  Interest  in  life  on  the  eve  of  death  as  in  the  vigour  of 
youth  and  health.  Next  to  selfishness,  the  principal  cause  which 
makes  life  unsatisfactory  is  want  of  mental  cultivation.  A cul- 
tivated mind  — I do  not  mean  that  of  a philosopher,  but  any 
mind  to  which  the  fountains  of  knowledge  have  been  opened,  and 
which  has  been  taught,  in  any  tolerable  degree,  to  exercise  its 
faculties  — finds  sources  of  inexhaustible  interest  in  all  that  sur- 
rounds it ; in  the  objects  of  nature,  the  achievements  of  art,  the 
imaginations  of  poetry,  the  incidents  of  history,  the  ways  of  man- 
kind past  and  present,  and  their  prospects  in  the  future.  It  is 
possible  to  become  indifferent  to  all  this,  and  that  too  without  hav- 
ing exhausted  a thousandth  part  of  it;  but  only  when  one  has  had 
from  the  beginning  no  moral  or  human  interest  in  these  things, 
and  has  sought  in  them  only  the  gratification  of  curiosity. 

Now  there  is  absolutely  no  reason  in  the  nature  of  things  why 
an  amount  of  mental  culture  sufficient  to  give  an  intelligent  inter- 
est in  these  objects  of  contemplation  should  not  be  the  inherit- 
ance of  every  one  born  in  a civilized  country.  As  little  is  there 
an  inherent  necessity  that  any  human  being  should  be  a selfish 
egotist,  devoid  of  every  feeling  or  care  but  those  which  centre  in 
his  own  miserable  individuality.  Something  far  superior  to  this 
is  sufficiently  common,  even  now,  to  give  ample  earnest  of  what 
the  human  species  may  be  made.  Genuine  private  affections 
and  a sincere  interest  in  the  public  good  are  possible,  though  in 
unequal  degrees,  to  every  rightly  brought  up  human  being.  In  a 
world  in  which  there  is  so  much  to  interest,  so  much  to  enjoy, 
and  so  much  also  to  correct  and  improve,  every  one  who  has  this 
moderate  amount  of  moral  and  intellectual  requisites  is  capable 
of  an  existence  which  may  be  called  enviable ; and  unless  such  a 
person,  through  bad  laws,  or  subjection  to  the  will  of  others,  is 
denied  the  liberty  to  use  the  sources  of  happiness  within  his 
reach,  he  will  not  fail  to  find  this  enviable  existence,  if  he  escape 
the  positive  evils  of  life,  the  great  sources  of  physical  and  men- 
tal suffering  — such  as  indigence,  disease,  and  the  unkindness, 
worthlessness,  or  premature  loss  of  objects  of  affection.  The 


UTILITARIANISM 


657 

main  stress  of  the  problem  lies,  therefore,  in  the  contest  with  these 
calamities,  from  which  it  is  a rare  good  fortune  entirely  to  es- 
cape; which,  as  things  now  are,  cannot  be  obviated,  and  often 
cannot  be  in  any  material  degree  mitigated.  Yet  no  one  whose 
opinion  deserves  a moment’s  consideration  can  doubt  that  most 
of  the  great  positive  evils  of  the  world  are  in  themselves  remov- 
able, and  will,  if  human  affairs  continue  to  improve,  be  in  the 
end  reduced  within  narrow  limits.  Poverty,  in  any  sense  imply- 
ing suffering,  may  be  completely  extinguished  by  the  wisdom  of 
society,  combined  with  the  good  sense  and  providence  of  indi- 
viduals. Even  that  most  intractable  of  enemies,  disease,  may  be 
indefinitely  reduced  in  dimensions  by  good  physical  and  moral 
education,  and  proper  control  of  noxious  influences ; while  the 
progress  of  science  holds  out  a promise  for  the  future  of  still  more 
direct  conquests  over  this  detestable  foe.  And  every  advance 
in  that  direction  relieves  us  from  some,  not  only  of  the  chances 
which  cut  short  our  own  lives,  but,  what  concerns  us  still  more, 
which  deprive  us  of  those  in  whom  our  happiness  is  wrapped  up. 
As  for  vicissitudes  of  fortune,  and  other  disappointments  con- 
nected with  worldly  circumstances,  these  are  principally  the  effect 
either  of  gross  imprudence,  of  ill-regulated  desires,  or  of  bad  or 
imperfect  social  institutions.  All  the  grand  sources,  in  short,  of 
human  suffering  are  in  a great  degree,  many  of  them  almost 
entirely,  conquerable  by  human  care  and  effort ; and  though  their 
removal  is  grievously  slow,  — though  a long  succession  of  gen- 
erations will  perish  in  the  breach  before  the  conquest  is  com- 
pleted, and  this  world  becomes  all  that,  if  will  and  knowledge 
were  not  wanting,  it  might  easily  be  made,  — yet  every  mind 
sufficiently  intelligent  and  generous  to  bear  a part,  however  small 
and  unconspicuous,  in  the  endeavour,  will  draw  a noble  enjoy- 
ment from  the  contest  itself,  which  he  would  not  for  any  bribe 
in  the  form  of  selfish  indulgence  consent  to  be  without. 

And  this  leads  to  the  true  estimation  of  what  is  said  by  the 
objectors  concerning  the  possibility,  and  the  obligation,  of  learn- 
ing to  do  without  happiness.  Unquestionably  it  is  possible  to 
do  without  happiness;  it  is  done  involuntarily  by  nineteen  twen- 
tieths of  mankind,  even  in  those  parts  of  our  present  world  which 


658 


JOHN  STUART  MILL 

are  at  least  deep  in  barbarism;  and  it  often  has  to  be  done 
voluntarily  by  the  hero  or  the  martyr,  for  the  sake  of  something 
which  he  prizes  more  than  his  individual  happiness.  But  this 
something,  what  is  it,  unless  the  happiness  of  others,  or  some  of 
the  requisites  of  happiness  ? It  is  noble  to  be  capable  of  resign- 
ing entirely  one’s  own  portion  to  happiness,  or  chances  of  it : but, 
after  all,  this  self-sacrifice  must  be  for  some  end;  it  is  not  its 
own  end ; and  if  we  are  told  that  its  end  is  not  happiness,  but 
virtue,  which  is  better  than  happiness,  I ask,  would  the  sacrifice 
be  made  if  the  hero  or  martyr  did  not  believe  that  it  would  earn 
for  others  immunity  from  similar  sacrifices  ? Would  it  be  made, 
if  he  thought  that  his  renunciation  of  happiness  for  himself  would 
produce  no  fruit  for  any  of  his  fellow-creatures,  but  to  make 
their  lot  like  his,  and  place  them  also  in  the  condition  of  persons 
who  have  renounced  happiness  ? All  honour  to  those  who  can 
abnegate  for  themselves  the  personal  enjoyment  of  life,  when 
by  such  renunciation  they  contribute  worthily  to  increase  the 
amount  of  happiness  in  the  world ; but  he  who  does  it,  or  pro- 
fesses to  do  it,  for  any  other  purpose,  is  no  more  deserving  of 
admiration  than  the  ascetic  mounted  on  his  pillar.  He  may  be 
an  inspiriting  proof  of  what  men  can  do,  but  assuredly  not  an 
example  of  what  they  should. 

Though  it  is  only  in  a very  imperfect  state  of  the  world’s  ar- 
rangements that  any  one  can  best  serve  the  happiness  of  others 
by  the  absolute  sacrifice  of  his  own,  yet  so  long  as  the  world  is 
in  that  imperfect  state,  I fully  acknowledge  that  the  readiness  to 
make  such  a sacrifice  is  the  highest  virtue  which  can  be  found  in 
man.  I will  add,  that  in  this  condition  of  the  world,  paradoxical 
as  the  assertion  may  be,  the  conscious  ability  to  do  without  happi- 
ness gives  the  best  prospect  of  realizing  such  happiness  as  is  at- 
tainable. For  nothing  except  that  consciousness  can  raise  a per- 
son above  the  chances  of  life,  by  making  him  feel  that,  let  fate 
and  fortune  do  their  worst,  they  have  not  power  to  subdue  him : 
which,  once  felt,  frees  him  from  excess  of  anxiety  concerning  the 
evils  of  life,  and  enables  him,  like  many  a Stoic  in  the  worst  times 
of  the  Roman  Empire,  to  cultivate  in  tranquillity  the  sources  of 
satisfaction  accessible  to  him,  without  concerning  himself  about 


UTILITARIANISM  659 

the  uncertainty  of  their  duration,  any  more  than  about  their 
inevitable  end. 

Meanwhile,  let  utilitarians  never  cease  to  claim  the  morality 
of  self-devotion  as  a possession  which  belongs  by  as  good  a right 
to  them  as  either  to  the  Stoic  or  to  the  Transcendentalist.  The 
utilitarian  morality  does  recognize  in  human  beings  the  power 
of  sacrificing  their  own  greatest  good  for  the  good  of  others.  It 
only  refuses  to  admit  that  the  sacrifice  is  itself  a good.  A sacrifice 
which  dees  not  increase,  or  tend  to  increase,  the  sum  total  of  hap- 
piness, it  considers  as  wasted.  The  only  self-renunciation  which 
it  applauds,  is  devotion  to  the  happiness,  or  to  some  of  the  means 
of  happiness,  of  others ; either  of  mankind  collectively,  or  of  in- 
dividuals within  the  limits  imposed  by  the  collective  interests  of 
mankind. 

I must  again  repeat,  what  the  assailants  of  utilitarianism 
seldom  have  the  justice  to  acknowledge,  that  the  happiness  which 
forms  the  utilitarian  standard  of  what  is  right  in  conduct,  is  not 
the  agent’s  own  happiness,  but  that  of  all  concerned.  As  between 
his  own  happiness  and  that  of  others,  utilitarianism  requires  him 
to  be  as  strictly  impartial  as  a disinterested  and  benevolent  spec- 
tator. In  the  golden  rule  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  we  read  the  com- 
plete spirit  of  the  ethics  of  utility.  To  do  as  one  would  be  done 
by,  and  to  love  one’s  neighbour  as  one’s  self,  constitute  the  ideal 
perfection  of  utilitarian  morality.  As  the  means  of  making  the 
nearest  approach  to  this  ideal,  utility  would  enjoin,  first,  that 
laws  and  social  arrangements  should  place  the  happiness,  or 
(as  speaking  practically  it  may  be  called)  the  interest,  of  every 
individual  as  nearly  as  possible  in  harmony  with  the  interest  of 
the  whole;  and  secondly,  that  education  and  opinion,  which  have 
so  vast  a power  over  human  character,  should  so  use  that  power 
as  to  establish  in  the  mind  of  every  individual  an  indissoluble 
association  between  his  own  happiness  and  the  good  of  the  whole, 
especially  between  his  own  happiness  and  the  practice  of  such 
modes  of  conduct,  negative  and  positive,  as  regard  for  the  uni- 
versal happiness  prescribes ; so  that  not  only  he  may  be  unable 
to  conceive  the  possibility  of  happiness  to  himself,  consistently 
with  conduct  opposed  to  the  general  good,  but  also  that  a direct 


66o 


JOHN  STUART  MILL 

impulse  to  promote  the  general  good  may  be  in  every  individ- 
ual one  of  the  habitual  motives  of  action,  and  the  sentiments 
connected  therewith  may  fill  a large  and  prominent  place  in 
every  human  being’s  sentient  existence.  If  the  impugners  of  the 
utilitarian  morality  represented  it  to  their  own  minds  in  this  its 
true  character,  I know  not  what  recommendation  possessed  by 
any  other  morality  they  could  possibly  affirm  to  be  wanting  to  it, 
what  more  beautiful  or  more  exalted  developments  of  human 
nature  any  other  ethical  system  can  be  supposed  to  foster,  or 
what  springs  of  action,  not  accessible  to  the  utilitarian,  such 
systems  rely  on  for  giving  effect  to  their  mandates. 


CHAPTER  III.  OF  THE  ULTIMATE  SANCTION  OF 
THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  UTILITY 

The  question  is  often  asked,  and  properly  so,  in  regard  to  any 
supposed  moral  standard  — What  is  its  sanction  ? what  are  the 
motives  to  obey  it?  or  more  specifically,  what  is  the  source  of 
its  obligation?  whence  does  it  derive  its  binding  force?  It  is  a 
necessary  part  of  moral  philosophy  to  provide  the  answer  to  this 
question;  which,  though  frequently  assuming  the  shape  of  an 
objection  to  the  utilitarian  morality,  as  if  it  had  some  special 
applicability  to  that  above  others,  really  arises  in  regard  to  all 
standards.  It  arises,  in  fact,  whenever  a person  is  called  on  to 
adopt  a standard  or  refer  morality  to  any  basis  on  which  he  has 
not  been  accustomed  to  rest  it.  For  the  customary  morality,  that 
which  education  and  opinion  have  consecrated,  is  the  only  one 
which  presents  itself  to  the  mind  with  the  feeling  of  being  m itself 
obligatory;  and  when  a person  is  asked  to  believe  that  this 
morality  derives  its  obligation  from  some  general  principle  round 
which  custom  has  not  thrown  the  same  halo,  the  assertion  is  to 
him  a paradox;  the  supposed  corollaries  seem  to  have  a more 
binding  force  than  the  original  theorem;  the  superstructure 
seems  to  stand  better  without,  than  with,  what  is  represented  as 
its  foundation.  He  says  to  himself,  I feel  that  I am  bound  not  to 


UTILITARIANISM 


66 1 

rob  or  murder,  betray  or  deceive ; but  why  am  I bound  to  promote 
the  general  happiness  ? If  my  own  happiness  lies  in  something 
else,  why  may  I not  give  that  the  preference  ? 

If  the  view  adopted  by  the  utilitarian  philosophy  of  the  nature 
of  the  moral  sense  be  correct,  this  difficulty  will  always  pre- 
sent itself,  until  the  influences  which  form  moral  character  have 
taken  the  same  hold  of  the  principle  which  they  have  taken  of 
some  of  the  consequences  — until,  by  the  improvement  of  edu- 
cation, the  feeling  of  unity  with  our  fellow-creatures  shall  be 
(what  it  cannot  be  doubted  that  Christ  intended  it  to  be)  as 
deeply  rooted  in  our  character,  and  to  our  own  consciousness 
as  completely  a part  of  our  nature,  as  the  horror  of  crime  is  in 
an  ordinarily  well-brought-up  young  person.  In  the  mean  time, 
however,  the  difficulty  has  no  peculiar  application  to  the  doctrine 
of  utility,  but  is  inherent  in  every  attempt  to  analyze  morality  and 
reduce  it  to  principles;  which,  unless  the  principle  is  already  in 
men’s  minds  invested  with  as  much  sacredness  as  any  of  its  appli- 
cations, always  seems  to  divest  them  of  a part  of  their  sanctity. 

The  principle  of  utility  either  has,  or  there  is  no  reason  why 
it  might  not  have,  all  the  sanctions  which  belong  to  any  other 
system  of  morals.  Those  sanctions  are  either  external  or  internal. 
Of  the  external  sanctions  it  is  not  necessary  to  speak  at  any 
length.  They  are,  the  hope  of  favour  and  the  fear  of  displeasure 
from  our  fellow-creatures  or  from  the  Ruler  of  the  Universe,  along 
with  whatever  we  may  have  of  sympathy  or  affection  for  them  or 
of  love  and  awe  of  Him,  inclining  us  to  do  His  will  independently 
of  selfish  consequences.  There  is  evidently  no  reason  why  all 
these  motives  for  observance  should  not  attach  themselves  to  the 
utilitarian  morality,  as  completely  and  as  powerfully  as  to  any 
other.  Indeed,  those  of  them  which  refer  to  our  fellow-creatures 
are  sure  to  do  so,  in  proportion  to  the  amount  of  general  intelli- 
gence; for  whether  or  not  there  be  any  other  ground  of  moral 
obligation  than  the  general  happiness,  men  do  desire  happiness ; 
and  however  imperfect  may  be  their  own  practice,  they  desire 
and  commend  all  conduct  in  others  towards  themselves,  by  which 
they  think  their  happiness  is  promoted.  With  regard  to  the  reli- 
gious motive,  if  men  believe,  as  most  profess  to  do,  in  the  good- 


662 


JOHN  STUART  MILL 

ness  of  God,  those  who  think  that  conduciveness  to  the  general 
happiness  is  the  essence,  or  even  only  the  criterion,  of  good, 
must  necessarily  believe  that  it  is  also  that  which  God  approves. 
The  whole  force  therefore  of  external  reward  and  punishment, 
whether  physical  or  moral,  and  whether  proceeding  from  God 
or  from  our  fellow-men,  together  with  all  that  the  capacities  of 
human  nature  admit,  of  disinterested  devotion  to  either,  become 
available  to  enforce  the  utilitarian  morality,  in  proportion  as  that 
morality  is  recognized;  and  the  more  powerfully,  the  more  the 
appliances  of  education  and  general  cultivation  are  bent  to  the 
purpose. 

So  far  as  to  external  sanctions.  The  internal  sanction  of  duty, 
whatever  our  standard  of  duty  may  be,  is  one  and  the  same  — 
a feeling  in  our  own  mind;  a pain,  more  or  less  intense,  attendant 
on  violation  of  duty,  which  in  properly  cultivated  moral  natures 
rises,  in  the  more  serious  cases,  into  shrinking  from  it  as  an 
impossibility.  This  feeling,  when  disinterested,  and  connecting 
itself  with  the  pure  idea  of  duty,  and  not  with  some  particular 
form  of  it,  or  with  any  of  the  merely  accessory  circumstances,  is 
the  essence  of  Conscience;  though  in  that  complex  phenomenon 
as  it  actually  exists,  the  simple  fact  is  in  general  all  encrusted  over 
with  collateral  associations,  derived  from  sympathy,  from  love, 
and  still  more  from  fear;  from  all  the  forms  of  religious  feeling; 
from  the  recollections  of  childhood  and  of  all  our  past  life;  from 
self-esteem,  desire  of  the  esteem  of  others,  and  occasionally  even 
self-abasement.  This  extreme  complication  is,  I apprehend,  the 
origin  of  the  sort  of  mystical  character  which,  by  a tendency 
of  the  human  mind,  of  which  there  are  many  other  examples, 
is  apt  to  be  attributed  to  the  idea  of  moral  obligation,  and  which 
leads  people  to  believe  that  the  idea  cannot  possibly  attach 
itself  to  any  other  objects  than  those  which,  by  a supposed  mys- 
terious law,  are  found  in  our  present  experience  to  excite  it.  Its 
binding  force,  however,  consists  in  the  existence  of  a mass  of 
feeling  which  must  be  broken  through  in  order  to  do  what  vio- 
lates our  standard  of  right,  and  which,  if  we  do  nevertheless 
violate  that  standard,  will  probably  have  to  be  encountered 
afterwards  in  the  form  of  remorse.  Whatever  theory  we  have  of 


UTILITARIANISM  663 

the  nature  or  origin  of  conscience,  this  is  what  essentially  con- 
stitutes it. 

The  ultimate  sanction,  therefore,  of  aU  morality  (external 
motives  apart)  being  a subjective  feeling  in  our  own  minds,  I 
see  nothing  embarrassing  to  those  whose  standard  is  utility, 
in  the  question,  what  is  the  sanction  of  that  particular  standard  ? 
We  may  answer,  the  same  as  of  all  other  moral  standards,  — 
the  conscientious  feelings  of  mankind.  Undoubtedly  this  sanc- 
tion has  no  binding  efficacy  on  those  who  do  not  possess  the 
feelings  it  appeals  to;  but  neither  will  these  persons  be  more 
obedient  to  any  other  moral  principle  than  to  the  utilitarian 
one.  On  them  morality  of  any  kind  has  no  hold  but  through 
the  external  sanctions.  Meanwhile  the  feelings  exist,  a fact  in 
human  nature,  the  reality  of  which,  and  the  great  power  with 
which  they  are  capable  of  acting  on  those  in  whom  they  have 
been  duly  cultivated,  are  proved  by  experience.  No  reason  has 
ever  been  shown  why  they  may  not  be  cultivated  to  as  great 
intensity  in  connection  with  the  utilitarian  as  with  any  other  rule 
of  morals. 

There  is,  I am  aware,  a disposition  to  believe  that  a person 
who  sees  in  moral  obligation  a transcendental  fact,  an  objective 
reality  belonging  to  the  province  of  “Things  in  themselves,”  is 
likely  to  be  more  obedient  to  it  than  one  who  believes  it  to  be 
entirely  subjective,  having  its  seat  in  human  consciousness  only. 
But  whatever  a person’s  opinion  may  be  on  this  point  of  Ontology, 
the  force  he  is  really  urged  by  is  his  own  subjective  feeling,  and 
is  exactly  measured  by  its  strength.  No  one’s  belief  that  Duty  is 
an  objective  reality  is  stronger  than  the  belief  that  God  is  so; 
yet  the  belief  in  God,  apart  from  the  expectation  of  actual  reward 
and  punishment,  only  operates  on  conduct  through  and  in  pro- 
portion to  the  subjective  religious  feeling.  The  sanction,  so  far 
as  it  is  disinterested,  is  always  in  the  mind  itself ; and  the  notion, 
therefore,  of  the  transcendental  moralist  must  be  that  this  sanc- 
tion will  not  exist  in  the  mind  unless  it  is  believed  to  have  its 
root  out  of  the  mind ; and  that  if  a person  is  able  to  say  to  himself. 
That  which  is  restraining  me,  and  which  is  called  my  conscience, 
is  only  a feeling  in  my  own  mind,  he  may  possibly  draw  the  com 


664  JOHN  STUART  MILL 

elusion  that  when  the  feeling  ceases  the  obligation  ceases,  and 
that  if  he  find  the  feeling  inconvenient,  he  may  disregard  it  and 
endeavour  to  get  rid  of  it.  But  is  this  danger  confined  to  the  utili- 
tarian morality?  Does  the  belief  that  moral  obligation  has  its 
seat  outside  the  mind  make  the  feeling  of  it  too  strong  to  be  got 
rid  of  ? The  fact  is  so  far  otherwise  that  all  moralists  admit  and 
lament  the  ease  with  which,  in  the  generality  of  minds,  con- 
science can  be  silenced  or  stifled.  The  question.  Need  I obey 
my  conscience?  is  quite  as  often  put  to  themselves  by  persons 
who  never  heard  of  the  principle  of  utility,  as  by  its  adherents. 
Those  whose  conscientious  feelings  are  so  weak  as  to  allow  of 
their  asking  this  question,  if  they  answer  it  affirmatively,  will  not 
do  so  because  they  believe  in  the  transcendental  theory,  but 
because  of  the  external  sanctions. 

It  is  not  necessary  for  the  present  purpose  to  decide  whether 
the  feeling  of  duty  is  innate  or  implanted.  Assuming  it  to  be 
innate,  it  is  an  open  question  to  what  objects  it  naturally  attaches 
itself;  for  the  philosophic  supporters  of  that  theory  are  now 
agreed  that  the  intuitive  perception  is  of  principles  of  morality, 
and  not  of  the  details.  If  there  be  anything  innate  in  the  matter, 
I see  no  reason  why  the  feeling  which  is  innate  should  not  be  that 
of  regard  to  the  pleasures  and  pains  of  others.  If  there  is  any 
principle  of  morals  which  is  intuitively  obligatory,  I should  say 
it  must  be  that.  If  so,  the  intuitive  ethics  would  coincide  with  the 
utilitarian,  and  there  would  be  no  further  quarrel  between  them. 
Even  as  it  is,  the  intuitive  moralists,  though  they  believe  that 
there  are  other  intuitive  moral  obligations,  do  already  believe 
this  to  be  one;  for  they  unanimously  hold  that  a large  portion  of 
morality  turns  upon  the  consideration  due  to  the  interests  of  our 
fellow-creatures.  Therefore,  if  the  belief  in  the  transcendental 
origin  or  moral  obligation  gives  an  additional  efficacy  to  the  inter- 
nal sanction,  it  appears  to  me  that  the  utilitarian  principle  has 
already  the  benefit  of  it. 

On  the  other  hand,  if,  as  is  my  own  belief,  the  moral  feelings 
are  not  innate,  but  acquired,  they  are  not  for  that  reason  the  less 
natural.  It  is  natural  to  man  to  speak,  to  reason,  to  build  cities, 
to  cultivate  the  ground,  though  these  are  acquired  faculties.  The 


UTILITARIANISM 


665 


moral  feelings  are  not  indeed  a part  of  our  nature,  in  the  sense 
of  being  in  any  perceptible  degree  present  in  all  of  us ; but  this, 
unhappily,  is  a fact  admitted  by  those  who  believe  the  most 
strenuously  in  their  transcendental  origin.  Like  the  other  ac- 
quired capacities  above  referred  to,  the  moral  faculty,  if  not  a 
part  of  our  nature,  is  a natural  outgrowth  from  it;  capable,  like 
them,  in  a certain  small  degree,  of  springing  up  spontaneously; 
and  susceptible  of  being  brought  by  cultivation  to  a high  degree 
of  development.  Unhappily  it  is  also  susceptible,  by  a sufficient 
use  of  the  external  sanctions  and  of  the  force  of  early  impressions, 
of  being  cultivated  in  almost  any  direction ; so  that  there  is  hardly 
anything  so  absurd  or  so  mischievous  that  it  may  not,  by  means 
of  these  influences,  be  made  to  act  on  the  human  mind  with  all 
the  authority  of  conscience.  To  doubt  that  the  same  potency 
might  be  given  by  the  same  means  to  the  principle  of  utility, 
even  if  it  had  no  foundation  in  human  nature,  would  be  flying 
in  the  face  of  all  experience. 

But  moral  associations  which  are  wholly  of  artificial  creation, 
when  intellectual  culture  goes  on,  yield  by  degrees  to  the  dissolv- 
ing force  of  analysis;  and  if  the  feeling  of  duty,  when  associated 
with  utility,  would  appear  equally  arbitrary;  if  there  were  no 
leading  department  of  our  nature,  no  powerful  class  of  senti- 
ments, with  which  that  association  would  harmonize,  which 
would  make  us  feel  it  congenial,  and  incline  us  not  only  to  foster 
it  in  others  (for  which  we  have  abundant  interested  motives), 
but  also  to  cherish  it  in  ourselves ; if  there  were  not,  in  short, 
a natural  basis  of  sentiment  for  utilitarian  morality,  it  might 
well  happen  that  this  association  also,  even  after  it  had  been 
implanted  by  education,  might  be  analyzed  away. 

But  there  is  this  basis  of  powerful  natural  sentiment;  and  this 
it  is  which,  when  once  the  general  happiness  is  recognized  as  the 
ethical  standard,  will  constitute  the  strength  of  the  utilitarian 
morality.  This  firm  foundation  is  that  of  the  social  feelings  of 
mankind;  the  desire  to  be  in  unity  with  our  fellow-creatures, 
which  is  already  a powerful  principle  in  human  nature,  and 
happily  one  of  those  which  tend  to  become  stronger,  even  with- 
out express  inculcation,  from  the  influences  of  advancing  civiliza- 


666 


JOHN  STUART  MILL 

tion.  The  social  state  is  at  once  so  natural,  so  necessary,  and  so 
habitual  to  man,  that,  except  in  some  unusual  circumstances  or 
by  an  effort  of  voluntary  abstraction,  he  never  conceives  himself 
otherwise  than  as  a member  of  a body;  and  this  association  is 
rivetted  more  and  more,  as  mankind  is  further  removed  from  the 
state  of  savage  independence.  Any  condition,  therefore,  which 
is  essential  to  a state  of  society,  becomes  more  and  more  an 
inseparable  part  of  every  person’s  conception  of  the  state  of 
things  which  he  is  born  into,  and  which  is  the  destiny  of  a 
human  being. 

Now,  society  between  human  beings,  except  in  the  relation 
of  master  and  slave,  is  manifestly  impossible  on  any  other  footing 
than  that  the  interests  of  all  are  to  be  consulted.  Society  between 
equals  can  only  exist  on  the  understanding  that  the  interests  of 
all  are  to  be  regarded  equally.  And  since  in  all  states  of  civil- 
ization, every  person,  except  an  absolute  monarch,  has  equals, 
every  one  is  obliged  to  live  on  these  terms  with  somebody;  and  in 
every  age  some  advance  is  made  towards  a state  in  which  it  will 
be  impossible  to  live  permanently  on  other  terms  with  anybody. 
In  this  way  people  grow  up  unable  to  conceive  as  possible  to 
them  a state  of  total  disregard  of  other  people’s  interests.  They 
are  under  a necessity  of  conceiving  themselves  as  at  least  abstain- 
ing  from  all  the  grosser  injuries,  and  (if  only  for  their  own  pro- 
tection) living  in  a state  of  constant  protest  against  them.  They 
are  also  familiar  with  the  fact  of  co-operating  with  others,  and  pro- 
posing to  themselves  a collective,  not  an  individual  interest,  as  the 
aim  (at  least  for  the  time  being)  of  their  actions.  So  long  as  they 
are  co-operating,  their  ends  are  identified  with  those  of  others; 
there  is  at  least  a temporary  feeling  that  the  interests  of  others 
are  their  own  interests.  Not  only  does  all  strengthening  of  social 
ties,  and  all  healthy  growth  of  society,  give  to  each  individual  a 
stronger  personal  interest  in  practically  consulting  the  welfare  of 
others ; it  also  leads  him  to  identify  his  feelings  more  and  more 
with  their  good,  or  at  least  with  an  ever-greater  degree  of  prac- 
tical consideration  for  it.  He  comes,  as  though  instinctively,  to 
be  conscious  of  himself  as  a being  who  of  course  pays  regard  to 
others.  The  good  of  others  becomes  to  him  a thing  naturally 


UTILITARIANISM  667 

and  necessarily  to  be  attended  to,  like  any  of  the  physical  con- 
ditions of  our  existence.  Now,  whatever  amount  of  this  feeling 
a person  has,  he  is  urged  by  the  strongest  motives  both  of  interest 
and  of  sympathy  to  demonstrate  it,  and  to  the  utmost  of  his 
power  encourage  it  in  others;  and  even  if  he  has  none  of  it  him- 
self, he  is  as  greatly  interested  as  any  one  else  that  others  should 
have  it.  Consequently,  the  smallest  germs  of  the  feeling  are  laid 
hold  of  and  nourished  by  the  contagion  of  sympathy  and  the 
influences  of  education;  and  a complete  web  of  corroborative 
association  is  woven  round  it,  by  the  powerful  agency  of  the 
external  sanctions.  This  mode  of  conceiving  ourselves  and 
human  life,  as  civilization  goes  on,  is  felt  to  be  more  and  more 
natural.  Every  step  in  political  improvement  renders  it  more  so, 
by  removing  the  sources  of  opposition  of  interest,  and  levelling 
those  inequalities  of  legal  privilege  between  individuals  or  classes, 
owing  to  which  there  are  large  portions  of  mankind  whose  happi- 
ness it  is  still  practicable  to  disregard.  In  an  improving  state 
of  the  human  mind,  the  influences  are  constantly  on  the  increase, 
which  tend  to  generate  in  each  individual  a feeling  of  unity  with 
all  the  rest ; which  feeling,  if  perfect,  would  make  him  never 
think  of,  or  desire,  any  beneficial  condition  for  himself,  in  the 
benefits  of  which  they  are  not  included.  If  we  now  suppose  this 
feeling  of  unity  to  be  taught  as  a religion,  and  the  whole  force 
of  education,  of  institutions,  and  of  opinion,  directed,  as  it  once 
was  in  the  case  of  religion,  to  make  every  person  grow  up  from 
infancy  surrounded  on  all  sides  both  by  the  profession  and  by 
the  practice  of  it,  I think  that  no  one,  who  can  realize  this 
conception,  will  feel  any  misgiving  about  the  suffixiency  of  the 
ultimate  sanction  for  the  Happiness  morality.  To  any  ethical 
student  who  finds  the  realization  difficult  I recommend,  as  a 
means  of  facilitating  it,  the  second  of  M.  Comte’s  two  principal 
works,  the  “ Systeme  de  Politique  Positive.”  I entertain  the 
strongest  objections  to  the  system  of  politics  and  morals  set  forth 
in  that  treatise ; but  I think  it  has  superabundantly  shown  the 
possibility  of  giving  to  the  service  of  humanity,  even  without  the 
aid  of  belief  in  a Providence,  both  the  physical  power  and 
the  social  efficacy  of  a religion;  making  it  take  hold  of  human 


668 


JOHN  STUART  MILL 

life,  and  colour  all  thought,  feeling,  and  action,  in  a manner  of 
which  the  greatest  ascendency  ever  exercised  by  any  religion  may 
be  but  a type  and  foretaste;  and  of  which  the  danger  is,  not  that 
it  should  be  insufficient,  but  that  it  should  be  so  excessive  as  to 
interfere  unduly  with  human  freedom  and  individuality. 

Neither  is  it  necessary  to  the  feeling  which  constitutes  the  bind- 
ing force  of  the  utilitarian  morality  on  those  who  recognize  it, 
to  wait  for  those  social  influences  which  would  make  its  obliga- 
tion felt  by  mankind  at  large.  In  the  comparatively  early  state 
of  human  advancement  in  which  we  now  live,  a person  cannot 
indeed  feel  that  entireness  of  sympathy  with  all  others,  which 
would  make  any  real  discordance  in  the  general  direction  of  their 
conduct  in  life  impossible;  but  already  a person  in  whom  the 
social  feeling  is  at  all  developed,  cannot  bring  himself  to  think 
of  the  rest  of  his  fellow-creatures  as  struggling  rivals  with  him 
for  the  means  of  happiness,  whom  he  must  desire  to  see  defeated 
in  their  object  in  order  that  he  may  succeed  in  his.  The  deeply 
rooted  conception  which  every  individual  even  now  has  of  him- 
self as  a social  being,  tends  to  make  him  feel  it  one  of  his  natural 
wants  that  there  should  be  harmony  between  his  feelings  and 
aims  and  those  of  his  fellow-creatures.  If  differences  of  opinion 
and  of  mental  culture  make  it  impossible  -for  him  to  share  many 
of  their  actual  feelings,  — perhaps  make  him  denounce  and  defy 
those  feelings,  — he  still  needs  to  be  conscious  that  his  real  aim 
and  theirs  do  not  conflict;  that  he  is  not  opposing  himself  to 
what  they  really  wish  for,  namely,  their  own  good,  but  is,  on  the 
contrary,  promoting  it.  This  feeling  in  most  individuals  is  much 
inferior  in  strength  to  their  selfish  feelings,  and  is  often  wanting 
altogether.  But  to  those  who  have  it,  it  possesses  all  the  charac- 
ters of  a natural  feeling.  It  does  not  present  itself  to  their  minds 
as  a superstition  of  education,  or  a law  despotically  imposed  by  the 
power  of  society,  but  as  an  attribute  which  it  would  not  be  well 
for  them  to  be  without.  This  conviction  is  the  ultimate  sanction 
of  the  greatest  Happiness  morality.  This  it  is  which  makes  any 
mind,  of  well-developed  feelings,  work  with,  and  not  against,  the 
outward  motives  to  care  for  others,  afforded  by  what  I have  called 
the  external  sanctions;  and  when  those  sanctions  are  wanting, 


UTILITARIANISM 


669 

or  act  in  an  opposite  direction,  constitutes  in  itself  a powerful 
internal  binding  force,  in  proportion  to  the  sensitiveness  and 
thoughtfulness  of  the  character;  since  few  but  1 those  whose 
mind  is  a moral  blank,  could  bear  to  lay  out  their  course  of  life 
on  the  plan  of  paying  no  regard  to  others  except  so  far  as  their 
own  private  interest  compels. 

CHAPTER  IF.  OF  IF  HAT  SORT  OF  PROOF  THE 
PRINCIPLE  OF  UTILITY  IS  SUSCEPTIBLE 

It  has  already  been  remarked,  that  questions  of  ultimate  ends 
do  not  admit  of  proof,  in  the  ordinary  acceptation  of  the  term. 
To  be  incapable  of  proof  by  reasoning  is  common  to  all  first 
principles ; to  the  first  premises  of  our  knowledge,  as  well  as  to 
those  of  our  conduct.  But  the  former,  being  matters  of  fact, 
may  be  the  subject  of  a direct  appeal  to  the  faculties  which 
judge  of  fact,  namely,  our  senses,  and  our  internal  conscious- 
ness. Can  an  appeal  be  made  to  the  same  faculties  on  ques- 
tions of  practical  ends?  Or  by  what  other  faculty  is  cognizance 
taken  of  them? 

Questions  about  ends  are,  in  other  words,  questions  what 
things  are  desirable.  The  utilitarian  doctrine  is,  that  happiness 
is  desirable,  and  the  only  thing  desirable,  as  an  end;  all  other 
things  being  only  desirable  as  means  to  that  end. 

What  ought  to  be  required  of  this  doctrine  — what  conditions 
is  it  requisite  that  the  doctrine  should  fulfil  — to  make  good  its 
claim  to  be  believed  ? 

The  only  proof  capable  of  being  given  that  an  object  is  visible, 
is  that  people  actually  see  it.  The  only  proof  that  a sound  is 
audible,  is  that  people  hear  it ; and  so  of  the  other  sources  of  our 
experience.  In  like  manner,  I apprehend,  the  sole  evidence  it  is 
possible  to  produce  that  anything  is  desirable,  is  that  people  do 
actually  desire  it.  If  the  end  which  the  utilitarian  doctrine  pro- 
poses to  itself  were  not,  in  theory  and  in  practice,  acknowledged 
to  be  an  end,  nothing  could  ever  convince  any  person  that  it  was 
so.  No  reason  can  be  given  why  the  general  happiness  is  desir- 


670  JOHN  STUART  MILL 

able  except  that  each  person,  so  far  as  he  believes  it  to  be  attain- 
able, desires  his  own  happiness.  This,  however,  being  a fact, 
‘we  have  not  only  all  the  proof  which  the  case  admits  of,  but  all 
which  it  is  possible  to  require,  that  happiness  is  a good ; that  each 
person’s  happiness  is  a good  to  that  person,  and  the  general 
happiness,  therefore,  a good  to  the  aggregate  of  all  persons. 
Happiness  has  made  out  its  title  as  one  of  the  ends  of  conduct, 
and  consequently  one  of  the  criteria  of  morality. 

But  it  has  not,  by  this  alone,  proved  itself  to  be  the  sole  cri- 
terion. To  do  that,  it  would  seem,  by  the  same  rule,  necessary 
to  show,  not  only  that  people  desire  happiness,  but  that  they 
never  desire  anything  else.  Now  it  is  palpable  that  they  do 
desire  things  which,  in  common  language,  are  decidedly  distin- 
guished from  happiness.  They  desire,  for  example,  virtue,  and 
the  absence  of  vice,  no  less  really  than  pleasure,  and  the  absence 
of  pain.  The  desire  of  virtue  is  not  as  universal,  but  it  is  as  au- 
thentic a fact,  as  the  desire  of  happiness.  Hence  the  opponents 
of  the  utilitarian  standard  deem  that  they  have  a right  to  infer 
that  there  are  other  ends  of  human  action  besides  happiness, 
and  that  happiness  is  not  the  standard  of  approbation  and  dis- 
approbation. 

But  does  the  utilitarian  doctrine  deny  that  people  desire 
virtue,  or  maintain  that  virtue  is  not  a thing  to  be  desired?  The 
very  reverse.  It  maintains  not  only  that  virtue  is  to  be  desired, 
but  that  it  is  to  be  desired  disinterestedly,  for  itself.  Whatever 
may  be  the  opinion  of  utilitarian  moralists  as  to  the  original  con- 
ditions by  which  virtue  is  made  virtue;  however  they  may  believe 
(as  they  do)  that  actions  and  dispositions  are  only  virtuous 
because  they  promote  another  end  than  virtue;  yet  this  being 
granted,  and  it  having  been  decided,  from  considerations  of 
this  description,  which  is  virtuous,  they  not  only  place  virtue 
at  the  very  head  of  the  things  which  are  good  as  means  to  the 
ultimate  end,  but  they  also  recognize  as  a psychological  fact  the 
possibility  of  its  being,  to  the  individual,  a good  in  itself,  without 
looking  to  any  end  beyond  it;  and  hold,  that  the  mind  is  not  in  a 
right  state,  not  in  a state  conformable  to  Utility,  not  in  the  state 
most  conducive  to  the  general  happiness,  unless  it  does  love  vir- 


UTILITARIANISM 


671 

tue  in  this  manner  — as  a thing  desirable  in  itself,  even  although, 
in  the  individual  instance,  it  should  not  produce  those  other  desir- 
able consequences  which  it  tends  to  produce,  and  on  account  of 
which  it  is  held  to  be  virtue.  This  opinion  is  not,  in  the  smallest 
degree,  a departure  from  the  Happiness  principle.  The  ingredi- 
ents of  happiness  are  very  various,  and  each  of  them  is  desirable 
in  itself,  and  not  merely  when  considered  as  swelling  an  aggre- 
gate. The  principle  of  utility  does  not  mean  that  any  given  plea- 
sure, as  music,  for  instance,  or  any  given  exemption  from  pain, 
as,  for  example,  health,  are  to  be  looked  upon  as  means  to  a col- 
lective something  termed  happiness,  and  to  be  desired  on  that 
account.  They  are  desired  and  desirable  in  and  for  themselves  ; 
besides  being  means,  they  are  a part  of  the  end.  Virtue,  accord- 
ing to  the  utilitarian  doctrine,  is  not  naturally  and  originally  part 
of  the  end,  but  it  is  capable  of  becoming  so ; and  in  those  who  love 
it  disinterestedly  it  has  become  so,  and  is  desired  and  cherished, 
not  as  a means  to  happiness,  but  as  a part  of  their  happiness. 

To  illustrate  this  further,  we  may  remember  that  virtue  is  not 
the  only  thing,  originally  a means,  and  which  if  it  were  not  ameans 
to  anything  else,  would  be  and  remain  indifferent,  but  which  by 
association  with  what  it  is  a means  to,  comes  to  be  desired  for  it- 
self, and  that  too  with  the  utmost  intensity.  What,  for  example, 
shall  we  say  of  the  love  of  money?  There  is  nothing  originally 
more  desirable  about  money  than  about  any  heap  of  glittering 
pebbles.  Its  worth  is  solely  that  of  the  things  which  it  will  buy; 
the  desires  for  other  things  than  itself,  which  it  is  a means  of 
gratifying.  Yet  the  love  of  money  is  not  only  one  of  the  strong- 
est moving  forces  of  human  life,  but  money  is,  in  many  cases, 
desired  in  and  for  itself ; the  desire  to‘  possess  it  is  often  stronger 
than  the  desire  to  use  it,  and  goes  on  increasing  when  all  the  de- 
sires which  point  to  ends  beyond  it,  to  be  compassed  by  it,  are 
falling  off.  It  may  then  be  said  truly,  that  money  is  desired  not 
for  the  sake  of  an  end,  but  as  part  of  the  end.  From  being  a 
means  to  happiness,  it  has  come  to  be  itself  a principal  ingredi- 
ent of  the  individual’s  conception  of  happiness.  The  same  may 
be  said  of  the  majority  of  the  great  objects  of  human  life  — 
power,  for  example,  or  fame ; except  that  to  each  of  these  there 


672  JOHN  STUART  MILL 

is  a certain  amount  of  immediate  pleasure  annexed,  which  has 
at  least  the  semblance  of  being  naturally  inherent  in  them;  a 
thing  which  cannot  be  said  of  money.  Still,  however,  the  strong- 
est natural  attraction,  both  of  power  and  of  fame,  is  the  im- 
mense aid  they  give  to  the  attainment  of  our  other  wishes;  and 
it  is  the  strong  association  thus  generated  between  them  and  all 
our  objects  of  desire,  which  gives  to  the  direct  desire  of  them 
the  intensity  it  often  assumes,  so  as  in  some  characters  to  sur- 
pass in  strength  all  other  desires.  In  these  cases  the  means  have 
become  a part  of  the  end,  and  a more  important  part  of  it  than 
any  of  the  things  which  they  are  means  to.  What  was  once  de- 
sired as  an  instrument  for  the  attainment  of  happiness,  has  come 
to  be  desired  for  its  own  sake.  In  being  desired  for  its  own 
sake  it  is,  however,  desired  as  part  of  happiness.  The  person  is 
made,  or  thinks  he  would  be  made,  happy  by  its  mere  posses- 
sion ; and  is  made  unhappy  by  failure  to  obtain  it.  The  desire 
of  it  is  not  a different  thing  from  the  desire  of  happiness,  any 
more  than  the  love  of  music,  or  the  desire  of  health.  They  are 
included  in  happiness.  They  are  some  of  the  elements  of  which 
the  desire  of  happiness  is  made  up.  Happiness  is  not  an  abstract 
idea,  but  a concrete  whole;  and  these  are  some  of  its  parts.  And 
the  utilitarian  standard  sanctions  and  approves  their  being  so. 
Life  would  be  a poor  thing,  very  ill  provided  with  sources  of 
happiness,  if  there  were  not  this  provision  of  nature,  by  which 
things  originally  indifferent,  but  conducive  to,  or  otherwise  asso- 
ciated with,  the  satisfaction  of  our  primitive  desires,  become  in 
themselves  sources  of  pleasure  more  valuable  than  the  primitive 
pleasures,  both  in  permanency,  in  the  space  of  human  existence 
that  they  are  capable  of  covering,  and  even  in  intensity. 

Virtue,  according  to  the  utilitarian  conception,  is  a good  of  this 
description.  There  was  no  original  desire  of  it,  or  motive  to  it, 
save  its  conduciveness  to  pleasure,  and  especially  to  protection 
from  pain.  But  through  the  association  thus  formed,  it  may  be 
felt  a good  in  itself,  and  desired  as  such  with  as  great  intensity 
as  any  other  good;  and  with  this  difference  between  it  and  the 
love  of  money,  of  power,  or  of  fame,  that  all  of  these  may,  and 
often  do,  render  the  individual  noxious  to  the  other  members  of 


UTILITARIANISM 


673 

the  society  to  which  he  belongs,  whereas  there  is  nothing  which 
makes  him  so  much  a blessing  to  them  as  the  cultivation  of  the 
disinterested  love  of  virtue.  And  consequently,  the  utilitarian 
standard,  while  it  tolerates  and  approves  those  other  acquired 
desires,  up  to  the  point  beyond  which  they  would  be  more  in- 
jurious to  the  general  ha.ppiness  than  promotive  of  it,  enjoins 
the  cultivation  of  the  love  of  virtue  up  to  the  greatest  strength 
possible,  as  being  above  all  things  important  to  the  general 
happiness. 

It  results  from  the  preceding  considerations,  that  there  is  in 
reality  nothing  desired  except  happiness.  Whatever  is  desired 
otherwise  than  as  a means  to  some  end  beyond  itself,  and  ulti- 
mately to  happiness,  is  desired  as  itself  a part  of  happiness,  and 
is  not  desired  for  itself  until  it  has  become  so.  Those  who  de- 
sire virtue  for  its  own  sake,  desire  it  either  because  the  conscious- 
ness of  it  is  a pleasure,  or  because  the  consciousness  of  being 
without  it  is  a pain,  or  for  both  reasons  united;  as  in  truth  the 
pleasure  and  pain  seldom  exist  separately,  but  almost  always  to- 
gether, the  same  person  feeling  pleasure  in  the  degree  of  virtue 
attained,  and  pain  in  not  having  attained  more.  If  one  of  these 
gave  him  no  pleasure,  and  the  other  no  pain,  he  would  not  love 
or  desire  virtue,  or  would  desire  it  only  for  the  other  benefits  which 
it  might  produce  to  himself  or  to  persons  whom  he  cared  for. 

We  have  now,  then,  an  answer  to  the  question,  of  what  sort 
of  proof  the  principle  of  utility  is  susceptible.  If  the  opinion 
which  I have  now  stated  is  psychologically  true,  if  human  nature 
is  so  constituted  as  to  desire  nothing  which  is  not  either  a part 
of  happiness  or  a means  of  happiness,  we  can  have  no  other  proof, 
and  we  require  no  other,  that  these  are  the  only  things  desirable. 
If  so,  happiness  is  the  sole  end  of  human  action,  and  the  promo- 
tion of  it  the  test  by  which  to  judge  of  all  human  conduct ; from 
whence  it  necessarily  follows  that  it  must  be  the  criterion  of 
morality,  since  a part  is  included  in  the  whole. 

And  now  to  decide  whether  this  is  really  so;  whether  mankind 
does  desire  nothing  for  itself  but  that  which  is  pleasure  to  it, 
or  of  which  the  absence  is  a pain ; we  have  evidently  arrived  at  a 
question  of  fact  and  experience,  dependent,  like  all  similar  ques- 


674  JOHN  STUART  MILL 

tions,  upon  evidence.  It  can  only  be  determined  by  practised  self- 
consciousness  and  self-observation,  assisted  by  observation  of 
others.  I believe  that  these  sources  of  evidence,  impartially  con- 
sulted, will  declare  that  desiring  a thing  and  finding  it  pleasant, 
aversion  to  it  and  thinking  of  it  as  painful,  are  phenomena  en- 
tirely inseparable,  or  rather  two  parts  of  the  same  phenomenon; 
in  strictness  of  language,  two  different  modes  of  naming  the 
same  psychological  fact;  that  to  think  of  an  object  as  desirable 
(unless  for  the  sake  of  its  consequences),  and  to  think  of  it  as 
pleasant,  are  one  and  the  same  thing ; and  that  to  desire  anything, 
except  in  proportion  as  the  idea  of  it  is  pleasant,  is  a physical 
and  metaphysical  impossibility. 

So  obvious  does  this  appear  to  me,  that  I expect  it  will  hardly 
be  disputed;  and  the  objection  made  will  be,  not  that  desire  can 
possibly  be  directed  to  anything  ultimately  except  pleasure  and 
exemption  from  pain,  but  that  the  will  is  a different  thing  from 
desire;  that  a person  of  confirmed  virtue,  or  any  other  person 
whose  purposes  are  fi.xed,  carries  out  his  purposes  without  any 
thought  of  the  pleasure  he  has  in  contemplating  them,  or  expects 
to  derive  from  their  fulfilment ; and  persists  in  acting  on  them, 
even  though  these  pleasures  are  much  diminished  by  changes 
in  his  character  or  decay  of  his  passive  sensibilities,  or  are  out- 
weighed by  the  pains  which  the  pursuit  of  the  purposes  may 
bring  upon  him.  All  this  I fully  admit,  and  have  stated  it  else- 
where, as  positively  and  emphatically  as  any  one.  Will,  the  active 
phenomenon,  is  a different  thing  from  desire,  the  state  of  passive 
sensibility,  and  though  originally  an  offshoot  from  it,  may  in  time 
take  root  and  detach  itself  from  the  parent  stock;  so  much  so, 
that  in  case  of  an  habitual  purpose,  instead  of  willing  the  thing 
because  we  desire  it,  we  often  desire  it  only  because  we  will  it. 
This,  however,  is  but  an  instance  of  that  familiar  fact,  the  power 
of  habit,  and  is  nowise  confined  to  the  case  of  virtuous  actions. 
Many  indifferent  things,  which  men  originally  did  from  a motive 
of  some  sort,  they  continue  to  do  from  habit.  Sometimes  this  is 
done  unconsciously,  the  consciousness  coming  only  after  the 
action ; at  other  times  with  conscious  volition ; but  volition  which 
has  become  habitual,  and  is  put  into  operation  by  the  force  of 


UTILITARIANISM  675 

habit,  in  opposition  perhaps  to  the  deliberate  preference,  as  often 
happens  with  those  who  have  contracted  habits  of  vicious  or 
hurtful  indulgence.  Third  and  last  comes  the  case  in  which  the 
habitual  act  of  will  in  the  individual  instance  is  not  in  contradic- 
tion to  the  general  intention  prevailing  at  other  times,  but  in  ful- 
filment of  it ; as  in  the  case  of  the  person  of  confirmed  virtue,  and 
of  all  who  pursue  deliberately  and  consistently  any  determinate 
end.  The  distinction  between  will  and  desire  thus  understood, 
is  an  authentic  and  highly  important  psychological  fact ; but  the 
fact  consists  solely  in  this,  that  will,  like  all  other  parts  of  our  con- 
stitution, is  amenable  to  habit,  and  that  we  may  will  from  habit 
what  we  no  longer  desire  for  itself,  or  desire  only  because  we  will 
it.  It  is  not  the  less  true  that  will,  in  the  beginning,  is  entirely 
produced  by  desire;  including  in  that  term  the  repelling  influ- 
ence of  pain  as  well  as  the  attractive  one  of  pleasure.  Let  us 
take  into  consideration,  no  longer  the  person  who  has  a confirmed 
will  to  do  right,  but  him  in  whom  that  virtuous  will  is  still  feeble, 
conquerable  by  temptation,  and  not  to  be  fully  relied  on ; by  what 
means  can  it  be  strengthened  ? How  can  the  will  to  be  virtuous, 
where  it  does  not  exist  in  sufficient  force,  be  implanted  or  awak- 
ened ? Only  by  making  the  person  desire  virtue;  by  making  him 
think  of  it  in  a pleasurable  light,  or  of  its  absence  in  a painful  one. 
It  is  by  associating  the  doing  right  with  pleasure,  or  the  doing 
wrong  with  pain,  or  by  eliciting  and  impressing  and  bringing 
home  to  the  person’s  experience  the  pleasure  naturally  involved 
in  the  one  or  the  pain  in  the  other,  that  it  is  possible  to  call  forth 
that  will  to  be  virtuous,  which,  when  confirmed,  acts  without  any 
thought  of  either  pleasure  or  pain.  Will  is  the  child  of  desire, 
and  passes  out  of  the  dominion  of  its  parent  only  to  come  under 
that  of  habit.  That  which  is  the  result  of  habit  affords  no  pre- 
sumption of  being  intrinsically  good;  and  there  would  be  no 
reason  for  wishing  that  the  purpose  of*  virtue  should  become 
independent  of  pleasure  and  pain,  were  it  not  that  the  influence 
of  the  pleasurable  and  painful  associations  which  prompt  to  vir- 
tue is  not  sufficiently  to  be  depended  on  for  unerring  constancy 
of  action  until  it  has  acquired  the  support  of  habit.  Both  in 
feeling  and  in  conduct,  habit  is  the  only  thing  which  imparts  cer- 


6;6  JOHN  STUART  MILL 

tainty ; and  it  is  because  of  the  importance  to  others  of  being  able 
to  rely  absolutely  on  one’s  feelings  and  conduct,  and  to  one’s  self 
of  being  able  to  rely  on  one’s  own,  that  the  will  to  do  right  ought 
to  be  cultivated  into  this  habitual  independence.  In  other  words, 
this  state  of  the  will  is  a means  to  good,  not  intrinsically  a good; 
and  does  not  contradict  the  doctrine  that  nothing  is  a good  to 
human  beings  but  in  so  far  as  it  is  either  itself  pleasurable,  or  a 
means  of  attaining  pleasure  or  averting  pain. 

But  if  this  doctrine  be  true,,  the  principle  of  utility  is  proved. 
Whether  it  is  so  or  not,  must  now  be  left  to  the  consideration  of 
the  thoughtful  reader. 


HERBERT  SPENCER 

(1820-1903 ) 

THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  ETHICS* 

Part  I.  — THE  DATA  OF  ETHICS 
CHAPTER  II.  THE  EVOLUTION  OF  CONDUCT 

§ 3.  We  have  become  quite  familiar  with  the  idea  of  an  evolution 
of  structures  throughout  the  ascending  types  of  animals.  To  a 
considerable  degree  we  have  become  familiar  with  the  thought 
that  an  evolution  of  functions  has  gone  on  pari  passu  with  the 
evolution  of  structures.  Now  advancing  a step,  we  have  to  frame 
a conception  of  the  evolution  of  conduct,  as  correlated  with  this 
evolution  of  structures  and  functions. 

These  three  subjects  are  to  be  definitely  distinguished.  Obvi- 
ously the  facts  comparative  morphology  sets  forth,  form  a whole 
which,  though  it  cannot  be  treated  in  general  or  in  detail  without 
taking  into  account  facts  belonging  to  comparative  physiology,  is 
essentially  independent.  No  less  clear  is  it  that  we  may  devote 
our  attention  exclusively  to  that  progressive  differentiation  of 
functions,  and  combination  of  functions,  which  accompanies  the 
development  of  structures  — may  say  no  more  about  the  charac- 
ters and  connexions  of  organs  than  is  implied  in  describing  their 
separate  and  joint  actions.  And  the  subject  of  conduct  lies  out- 
side the  subject  of  functions,  if  not  as  far  as  this  lies  outside  the 
subject  of  structures,  still,  far  enough  to  make  it  substantially 
separate.  For  those  functions  which  are  already  variously  com- 
pounded to  achieve  what  we  regard  as  single  bodily  acts,  are  end- 
lessly re-compounded  to  achieve  that  co-ordination  of  bodily  acts 
which  is  known  as  conduct. 

We  are  concerned  with  functions  in  the  true  sense,  while  we 
think  of  them  as  processes  carried  on  within  the  body ; and,  with- 

* Parti.,  77^(f  London,  Williams  & Norgate,  1879.  Reprinted 

here  from  the  6th  American  copyright  edition.  New  York,  D.  Appleton  & Co, 
1903. 


6;8  HERBERT  SPENCER 

out  exceeding  the  limits  of  physiology,  we  may  treat  of  their  ad- 
justed combinations,  so  long  as  these  are  regarded  as  parts  of  the 
vital  consensus.  If  we  observe  how  the  lungs  aerate  the  blood 
which  the  heart  sends  to  them;  how  heart  and  lungs  together 
supply  aerated  blood  to  the  stomach,  and  so  enable  it  to  do  its 
work ; how  these  co-operate  with  sundry  secreting  and  excreting 
glands  to  further  digestion  and  to  remove  waste  matter;  and  how 
all  of  them  join  to  keep  the  brain  in  a fit  condition  for  carrying 
on  those  actions  which  indirectly  conduce  to  maintenance  of  the 
life  at  large ; we  are  dealing  with  functions.  Even  when  consider- 
ing how  parts  that  act  directly  on  the  environment  — legs,  arms, 
wings  — perform  their  duties,  we  are  still  concerned  with  func- 
tions in  that  aspect  of  them  constituting  physiology,  so  long  as  we 
restrict  our  attention  to  internal  processes,  and  to  internal  com- 
binations of  them.  But  we  enter  on  the  subject  of  conduct  when 
we  begin  to  study  such  combinations  among  the  actions  of  sen- 
sory and  motor  organs  as  are  externally  manifested.  Suppose 
that  instead  of  observing  those  contractions  of  muscles  by  which 
the  optic  axes  are  converged  and  the  foci  of  the  eyes  adjusted 
(which  is  a portion  of  physiology) , and  that  instead  of  observing 
the  co-operation  of  other  nerves,  muscles,  and  bones,  by  which  a 
hand  is  moved  to  a particular  place  and  the  fingers  closed  (which 
is  also  a portion  of  physiology) , we  observe  a weapon  being  seized 
by  a hand  under  guidance  of  the  eyes.  We  now  pass  from  the 
thought  of  combined  internal  functions  to  the  thought  of  com- 
bined external  motions.  Doubtless  if  we  could  trace  the  cerebral 
processes  which  accompany  these,  we  should  find  an  inner  phys- 
iological co-ordination  corresponding  with  the  outer  co-ordination 
of  actions.  But  this  admission  is  consistent  with  the  assertion, 
that  when  we  ignore  the  internal  combination  and  attend  only  to 
the  external  combination,  we  pass  from  a portion  of  physiology 
to  a portion  of  conduct.  For  though  it  may  be  objected  that  the 
external  combination  instanced,  is  too  simple  to  be  rightly  in- 
cluded under  the  name  conduct,  yet  a moment’s  thought  shows 
that  it  is  joined  with  what  we  call  conduct  by  insensible  grada- 
tions. Suppose  the  w^eapon  seized  is  used  to  ward  off  a blow. 
Suppose  a counterblow  is  given.  Suppose  the  aggressor  runs  and 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  ETHICS  679 

is  chased.  Suppose  there  comes  a struggle  and  a handing  him 
over  to  the  police.  Suppose  there  follow  the  many  and  varied 
acts  constituting  a prosecution.  Obviously  the  initial  adjustment 
of  an  act  to  an  end,  inseparable  from  the  rest,  must  be  included 
with  them  under  the  same  general  head ; and  obviously  from  this 
initial  simple  adjustment,  having  intrinsically  no  moral  charac- 
ter, we  pass  by  degrees  to  the  most  complex  adjustments  and  to 
those  on  which  moral  judgments  are  passed. 

Hence,  excluding  all  internal  co-ordinations,  our  subject  here 
is  the  aggregate  of  all  external  co-ordinations ; and  this  aggregate 
includes  not  only  the  simplest  as  well  as  the  most  complex  per- 
formed by  human  beings,  but  also  those  performed  by  all  inferior 
beings  considered  as  less  or  more  evolved. 

§ 4.  Already  the  question  — What  constitutes  advance  in  the 
evolution  of  conduct,  as  we  trace  it  up  from  the  lowest  types  of 
living  creatures  to  the  highest  ? has  been  answered  by  implication. 
A few  examples  will  now  bring  the  answer  into  conspicuous 
relief. 

We  saw  that  conduct  is  distinguished  from  the  totality  of  ac- 
tions by  excluding  purposeless  actions;  but  during  evolution  this 
distinction  arises  by  degrees.  In  the  very  lowest  creatures  most  of 
the  movements  from  moment  to  moment  made,  have  not  more 
recognizable  aims  than  have  the  struggles  of  an  epileptic.  An 
infusorium  swims  randomly  about,  determined  in  its  course  not 
by  a perceived  object  to  be  pursued  or  escaped,  but,  apparently, 
by  varying  stimuli  in  its  medium;  and  its  acts,  unadjusted  in  any 
appreciable  way  to  ends,  lead  it  now  into  contact  with  some  nu- 
tritive substance  which  it  absorbs,  and  now  into  the  neighbour- 
hood of  some  creature  by  which  it  is  swallowed  and  digested. 
Lacking  those  developed  senses  and  motor  powers  which  higher 
animals  possess,  ninety-nine  in  the  hundred  of  these  minute  ani- 
mals, severally  living  but  for  a few  hours,  disappear  either  by 
innutrition  or  by  destruction.  The  conduct  is  constituted  of 
actions  so  little  adjusted  to  ends,  that  life  continues  only  as  long 
as  the  accidents  of  the  environment  are  favourable.  But  when, 
among  aquatic  creatures,  we  observe  one  which,  though  still  low 


68o 


HERBERT  SPENCER 


in  type,  is  much  higher  than  the  infusorium  — say  a rotifer  — we 
see  how,  along  with  larger  size,  more  developed  structures,  and 
greater  power  of  combining  functions,  there  goes  an  advance  in 
conduct.  We  see  how  by  its  whirling  cilia  it  sucks  in  as  food  these 
small  animals  moving  around;  how  by  its  prehensile  tail  it  fixes 
itself  to  some  object ; how  by  withdrawing  its  outer  organs  and 
contracting  its  body,  it  preserves  itself  from  this  or  that  injury 
from  time  to  time  threatened;  and  how  thus,  by  better  adjusting 
its  own  actions,  it  becomes  less  dependent  on  the  actions  going  on 
around,  and  so  preserves  itself  for  a longer  period. 

A superior  sub-kingdom,  as  the  Mollusca,  still  better  exempli- 
fies this  contrast.  When  we  compare  a low  mollusc,  such  as  a 
floating  ascidian,  with  a high  mollusc,  such  as  a cephalopod,  we 
are  again  shown  that  greater  organic  evolution  is  accompanied 
by  more  evolved  conduct.  At  the  mercy  of  every  marine  creature 
large  enough  to  swallow  it,  and  drifted  about  by  currents  which 
may  chance  to  keep  it  at  sea  or  may  chance  to  leave  it  fatally 
stranded,  the  ascidian  displays  but  little  adjustment  of  acts  to 
ends  in  comparison  with  the  cephalopod;  which,  now  crawling 
over  the  beach,  now  exploring  the  rocky  crevices,  now  swimming 
through  the  open  water,  now  darting  after  a fish,  now  hiding  itself 
from  some  larger  animal  in  a cloud  of  ink,  and  using  its  suckered 
arms  at  one  time  for  anchoring  itself  and  at  another  for  holding 
fast  its  prey;  selects,  and  combines,  and  proportions  its  move- 
ments from  minute  to  minute,  so  as  to  evade  dangers  which 
threaten,  while  utilizing  chances  of  food  which  offer;  so  showing 
us  varied  activities  which,  in  achieving  special  ends,  achieve  the 
general  end  of  securing  continuance  of  the  activities. 

Among  vertebrate  animals  we  similarly  trace  up,  along  with 
advance  in  structures  and  functions,  this  advance  in  conduct.  A 
fish  roaming  about  at  hazard  in  search  of  something  to  eat,  able 
to  detect  it  by  smell  or  sight  only  within  short  distances,  and  now 
and  again  rushing  away  in  alarm  on  the  approach  of  a bigger  fish, 
makes  adjustments  of  acts  to  ends  that  are  relatively  few  and 
simple  in  their  kinds ; and  shows  us,  as  a consequence,  how  small 
is  the  average  duration  of  life.  So  few  survive  to  maturity  that, 
to  make  up  for  destruction  of  unhatched  young  and  small  fry 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  ETHICS 


68i 


and  half-grown  individuals,  a million  ova  have  to  be  spawned  by 
a codfish  that  two  may  reach  the  spawning  age.  Conversely,  by  a 
highly- evolved  mammal,  such  as  an  elephant,  those  general  ac- 
tions performed  in  common  with  the  fish  are  far  better  adjusted 
to  their  ends.  By  sight  as  well,  probably,  as  by  odour,  it  detects 
food  at  relatively  great  distances;  and  when,  at  intervals,  there 
arises  a need  for  escape,  relatively-great  speed  is  attained.  But 
the  chief  difference  arises  from  the  addition  of  new  sets  of  adjust- 
ments. We  have  combined  actions  wTich  facilitate  nutrition  — 
the  breaking  off  of  succulent  and  fruit-bearing  branches,  the  se- 
lecting of  edible  growths  throughout  a comparatively  wide  reach ; 
and,  in  case  of  danger,  safety  can  be  achieved  not  by  flight  only, 
but,  if  necessary,  by  defence  or  attack ; bringing  into  combined 
use  tusks,  trunk,  and  ponderous  feet.  Further,  w^e  see  various 
subsidiary  acts  adjusted  to  subsidiary  ends  — now  the  going  into 
a river  for  coolness,  and  using  the  trunk  as  a means  of  projecting 
water  over  the  body ; now  the  employment  of  a bough  for  sweep- 
ing aw- ay  flies  from  the  back ; now'  the  making  of  signal  sounds  to 
alarm  the  herd,  and  adapting  the  actions  to  such  sounds  wEen 
made  by  others.  E^  idently,  the  effect  of  this  more  highly-evolved 
conduct  is  to  secure  the  balance  of  the  organic  actions  throughout 
far  longer  periods. 

And  now,  on  studying  the  doings  of  the  highest  of  mammals, 
mankind,  w'e  not  only  find  that  the  adjustments  of  acts  to  ends  are 
both  more  numerous  and  better  than  among  lower  mammals ; but 
we  find  the  same  thing  on  comparing  the  doings  of  higher  races 
of  men  with  those  of  lower  races.  If  w'e  take  any  one  of  the  major 
ends  achieved,  we  see  greater  completeness  of  achievement  by 
civilized  than  by  savage ; and  we  also  see  an  achievement  of  rela- 
tively numerous  minor  ends  subserving  major  ends.  Is  it  in  nu- 
trition ? The  food  is  obtained  more  regularly  in  response  to  ap- 
petite ; it  is  far  higher  in  quality ; it  is  free  from  dirt ; it  is  greater 
in  variety ; it  is  better  prepared.  Is  it  in  warmth  ? The  characters 
of  the  fabrics  and  forms  of  the  articles  used  for  clothing,  and  the 
adaptations  of  them  to  requirements  from  day  to  day  and  hour 
to  hour,  are  much  superior.  Is  it  in  dwellings?  Between  the 
shelter  of  boughs  and  grass  which  the  lowest  savage  builds,  and 


682 


HERBERT  SPENCER 


the  mansion  of  the  civilized  man,  the  constrast  in  aspect  is  not 
more  extreme  than  is  the  contrast  in  number  and  efficiency  of  the 
adjustments  of  acts  to  ends  betrayed  in  their  respective  con- 
structions. And  when  with  the  ordinary  activities  of  the  savage 
we  compare  the  ordinary  civilized  activities  — as  the  business  of 
the  trader,  which  involves  multiplied  and  complex  transactions 
extending  over  long  periods,  or  as  professional  avocations,  pre- 
pared for  by  elaborate  studies  and  daily  carried  on  in  endlessly- 
varied  forms,  or  as  political  discussions  and  agitations,  directed 
now  to  the  carrying  of  this  measure  and  now  to  the  defeating  of 
that,  — we  see  sets  of  adjustments  of  acts  to  ends,  not  only  im- 
mensely exceeding  those  seen  among  lower  races  of  men  in  variety 
and  intricacy,  but  sets  to  which  lower  races  of  men  present  no- 
thing analogous.  And  along  with  this  greater  elaboration  of  life 
produced  by  the  pursuit  of  more  numerous  ends,  there  goes  that 
increased  duration  of  life  which  constitutes  the  supreme  end. 

And  here  is  suggested  the  need  for  supplementing  this  concep- 
tion of  evolving  conduct.  For  besides  being  an  improving  adjust- 
ment of  acts  to  ends,  such  as  furthers  prolongation  of  life,  it  is 
such  as  furthers  increased  amount  of  life.  Reconsideration  of 
the  examples  above  given,  will  show  that  length  of  life  is  not  by 
itself  a measure  of  evolution  of  conduct;  but  that  quantity  of  life 
must  be  taken  into  account.  An  oyster,  adapted  by  its  structure 
to  the  diffused  food  contained  in  the  water  it  draws  in,  and 
shielded  by  its  shell  from  nearly  all  dangers,  may  live  longer  than 
a cuttle-fish,  which  has  such  superior  powers  of  dealing  with  nu- 
merous contingencies;  but  then,  the  sum  of  vital  activities  during 
any  given  interval  is  far  less  in  the  oyster  than  in  the  cuttle-fish. 
So  a worm,  ordinarily  sheltered  from  most  enemies  by  the  earth 
it  burrows  through,  which  also  supplies  a sufficiency  of  its  poor 
food,  may  have  greater  longevity  than  many  of  its  annulose  rela- 
tives, the  insects;  but  one  of  these  during  its  existence  as  larva 
and  imago,  may  experience  a greater  quantity  of  the  changes 
which  constitute  life.  Nor  is  it  otherwise  when  we  compare  the 
more  evolved  with  the  less  evolved  among  mankind.  The  differ- 
ence between  the  average  lengths  of  the  lives  of  savage  and  civ- 
ilized, is  no  true  measure  of  the  difference  betv'een  the  totalities 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  ETHICS  683 

of  their  two  lives,  considered  as  aggregates  of  thought,  feeling, 
and  action.  Hence,  estimating  life  by  multiplying  its  length  into 
its  breadth,  we  must  say  that  the  augmentation  of  it  which  ac- 
companies evolution  of  conduct,  results  from  increase  of  both 
factors.  The  more  multiplied  and  varied  adjustments  of  acts  to 
ends,  by  which  the  more  developed  creature  from  hour  to  hour 
fulfils  more  numerous  requirements,  severally  add  to  the  activities 
that  are  carried  on  abreast,  and  severally  help  to  make  greater 
the  period  through  which  such  simultaneous  activities  endure. 
Each  further  evolution  of  conduct  widens  the  aggregate  of  ac- 
tions while  conducing  to  elongation  of  it. 

§ 5.  Turn  we  now  to  a further  aspect  of  the  phenomena,  sepa- 
rate from,  but  necessarily  associated  with,  the  last.  Thus  far  we 
have  considered  only  those  adjustments  of  acts  to  ends  which 
have  for  their  final  purpose  complete  individual  life.  Now  we 
have  to  consider  those  adjustments  which  have  for  their  final 
purpose  the  life  of  the  species. 

Self-preservation  in  each  generation  has  all  along  depended  on 
the  preservation  of  offspring  by  preceding  generations.  And  in 
proportion  as  evolution  of  the  conduct  subserving  indi\ddual  life 
is  high,  implying  high  organization,  there  must  previously  have 
been  a highly-evolved  conduct  subserving  nurture  of  the  young. 
Throughout  the  ascending  grades  of  the  animal  kingdom,  this 
second  kind  of  conduct  presents  stages  of  advance  like  those 
which  we  have  observed  in  the  first.  Low  down,  where  structures 
and  functions  are  little  developed,  and  the  power  of  adjusting 
acts  to  ends  but  slight,  there  is  no  conduct,  properly  so  named, 
furthering  salvation  of  the  species.  Race-maintaining  conduct, 
like  self-maintaining  conduct,  arises  gradually  out  of  that  which 
cannot  be  called  conduct:  adjusted  actions  are  preceded  by  un- 
adjusted ones.  Protozoa  spontaneously  divide  and  sub-divide, 
in  consequence  of  physical  changes  over  which  they  have  no 
control ; or,  at  other  times,  after  a period  of  quiescence,  break 
up  into  minute  portions  which  severally  grow  into  new  individ- 
uals. In  neither  case  can  conduct  be  alleged.  Higher  up,  the 
process  is  that  of  ripening,  at  intervals,  germ-cells  and  sperm- 


HERBERT  SPENCER 


684 

cells,  which,  on  occasion,  are  sent  forth  into  the  surrounding 
water  and  left  to  their  fate : perhaps  one  in  ten  thousand  surviving 
to  maturity.  Here,  again,  we  see  only  development  and  dispersion 
going  on  apart  from  parental  care.  Types  above  these,  as  fish 
which  choose  fit  places  in  which  to  deposit  their  ova,  or  as  the 
higher  crustaceans  which  carry  masses  of  ova  about  until  they  are 
hatched,  e.xhibit  adjustments  of  acts  to  ends  which  we  may  prop- 
erly call  conduct;  though  it  is  of  the  simplest  kind.  Where,  as 
among  certain  fish,  the  male  keeps  guard  over  the  eggs,  driving 
away  intruders,  there  is  an  additional  adjustment  of  acts  to  ends; 
and  the  applicability  of  the  name  conduct  is  more  decided. 
Passing  at  once  to  creatures  far  superior,  such  as  birds  which, 
building  nests  and  sitting  on  their  eggs,  feed  their  broods  for  con- 
siderable periods,  and  give  them  aid  after  they  can  fly;  or  such  as 
mammals  which,  suckling  their  young  for  a time,  continue  after- 
wards to  bring  them  food  or  protect  them  while  they  feed,  until 
they  reach  ages  at  which  they  can  provide  for  themselves ; we  are 
shown  how  this  conduct  which  furthers  race-maintenance  evolves 
hand-in-hand  with  the  conduct  which  furthers  self-maintenance. 
That  better  organization  which  makes  possible  the  last,  makes 
possible  the  first  also.  Mankind  exhibit  a great  progress  of  like 
nature.  Compared  with  brutes,  the  savage,  higher  in  his  self- 
maintaining  conduct,  is  higher  too  in  his  race-maintaining  con- 
duct. A larger  number  of  the  wants  of  offspring  are  provided 
for ; and  parental  care,  enduring  longer,  extends  to  the  disciplin- 
ing of  offspring  in  arts  and  habits  which  fit  them  for  their  condi- 
tions of  existence.  Conduct  of  this  order,  equally  with  conduct  of 
the  first  order,  we  see  becoming  evolved  in  a still  greater  degree 
as  we  ascend  from  savage  to  civilized.  The  adjustments  of  acts 
to  ends  in  the  rearing  of  children  become  far  more  elaborate, 
alike  in  number  of  ends  met,  variety  of  means  used,  and  efficiency 
of  their  adaptations;  and  the  aid  and  oversight  are  continued 
throughout  a much  greater  part  of  early  life. 

In  tracing  up  the  evolution  of  conduct,  so  that  we  may  frame  a 
true  conception  of  conduct  in  general,  we  have  thus  to  recognize 
these  two  kinds  as  mutually  dependent.  Speaking  generally, 
neither  can  evolve  without  evolution  of  the  other ; and  the  highest 
evolutions  of  the  tw’o  must  be  reached  simultaneously. 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  ETHICS  685 

§ 6.  To  conclude,  however,  that  on  reaching  a perfect  adjust- 
ment of  acts  to  ends  subserving  individual  life  and  the  rearing  of 
offspring,  the  evolution  of  conduct  becomes  complete,  is  to  con- 
clude erroneously.  Or  rather,  I should  say,  it  is  an  error  to  sup- 
pose that  either  of  these  kinds  of  conduct  can  assume  its  highest 
form,  without  its  highest  form  being  assumed  by  a third  kind  of 
conduct  yet  to  be  named. 

The  multitudinous  creatures  of  all  kinds  which  fill  the  Earth, 
cannot  live  wholly  apart  from  one  another,  but  are  more  or  less 
in  presence  of  one  another  — are  interfered  with  by  one  another. 
In  large  measure  the  adjustments  of  acts  to  ends  which  we  have 
been  considering,  are  components  of  that  “ struggle  for  existence  ” 
carried  on  both  betw^een  members  of  the  same  species  and  be- 
tween members  of  different  species;  and,  very  generally,  a suc- 
cessful adjustment  made  by  one  creature  involves  an  unsuccessful 
adjustment  made  by  another  creature,  either  of  the  same  kind  or 
of  a different  kind.  That  the  carnivore  may  live,  herbivores  must 
die ; and  that  its  young  may  be  reared,  the  young  of  weaker  crea- 
tures must  be  orphaned.  Maintenance  of  the  hawk  and  its  brood 
involves  the  deaths  of  many  small  birds;  and  that  small  birds  may 
multiply,  their  progeny  must  be  fed  with  innumerable  sacrificed 
worms  and  larvae.  Competition  among  members  of  the  same 
species  has  allied,  though  less  conspicuous,  results.  The  stronger 
often  carries  off  by  force  the  prey  which  the  weaker  has  caught. 
Monopolizing  certain  hunting-grounds,  the  more  ferocious  drive 
others  of  their  kind  into  less  favourable  places.  With  plant-eating 
animals,  too,  the  like  holds : the  better  food  is  secured  by  the  more 
vigorous  individuals,  while  the  less  vigorous  and  w’orse  fed,  suc- 
cumb either  directly  from  innutrition  or  indirectly  from  resulting 
inability  to  escape  enemies.  That  is  to  say,  among  creatures 
w’hose  lives  are  carried  on  antagonistically,  each  of  the  tw’o  kinds 
of  conduct  delineated  above,  must  remain  imperfectly  evolved. 
Even  in  such  few  kinds  of  them  as  have  little  to  fear  from  enemies 
or  competitors,  as  lions  or  tigers,  there  is  still  inevitable  failure  in 
the  adjustments  of  acts  to  ends  towards  the  close  of  life.  Death 
by  starvation  from  inability  to  catch  prey,  shows  a falling  short 
of  conduct  from  its  ideal. 


686 


HERBERT  SPENCER 


This  imperfectly-evolved  conduct  introduces  us  by  antithesis 
to  conduct  that  is  perfectly  evolved.  Contemplating  these  adjust- 
ments of  acts  to  ends  which  miss  completeness  because  they 
cannot  be  made  by  one  creature  without  other  creatures  being 
prevented  from  making  them,  raises  the  thought  of  adjustments 
such  that  each  creature  may  make  them  without  preventing  them 
from  being  made  by  other  creatures.  That  the  highest  form  of 
conduct  must  be  so  distinguished,  is  an  inevitable  implication; 
for  while  the  form  of  conduct  is  such  that  adjustments  of  acts  to 
ends  by  some  necessitate  non-adjustments  by  others,  there  re- 
mains room  for  modifications  which  bring  conduct  into  a form 
avoiding  this,  and  so  making  the  totality  of  life  greater. 

From  the  abstract  let  us  pass  to  the  concrete.  Recognizing 
men  as  the  beings  whose  conduct  is  most  evolved,  let  us  ask  under 
what  conditions  their  conduct,  in  all  three  aspects  of  its  evolution, 
reaches  its  limit.  Clearly  while  the  lives  led  are  entirely  predatory, 
as  those  of  savages,  the  adjustments  of  acts  to  ends  fall  short 
of  this  highest  form  of  conduct  in  every  way.  Individual  life,  ill 
carried  on  from  hour  to  hour,  is  prematurely  cut  short ; the  foster- 
ing of  offspring  often  fails,  and  is  incomplete  when  it  does  not 
fail;  and  in  so  far  as  the  ends  of  self-maintenance  and  race-main- 
tenance are  met,  they  are  met  by  destruction  of  other  beings, 
of  different  kind  or  of  like  kind.  In  social  groups  formed  by 
compounding  and  re-compounding  primitive  hordes,  conduct 
remains  imperfectly  evolved  in  proportion  as  there  continue  an- 
tagonisms between  the  groups  and  antagonisms  between  members 
of  the  same  group  — two  traits  necessarily  associated ; since  the 
nature  which  prompts  international  aggression  prompts  aggres- 
sion of  individuals  on  one  another.  Hence  the  limit  of  evolution 
can  be  reached  by  conduct  only  in  permanently  peaceful  societies. 
That  perfect  adjustment  of  acts  to  ends  in  maintaining  individual 
life  and  rearing  new  individuals,  which  is  effected  by  each  without 
hindering  others  from  effecting  like  perfect  adjustments,  is,  in  its 
very  definition,  shown  to  constitute  a kind  of  conduct  that  can  be 
approached  only  as  war  decreases  and  dies  out. 

A gap  in  this  outline  must  now  be  filled  up.  There  remains  a 
further  advance  not  yet  even  hinted.  For  beyond  so  behaving 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  ETHICS 


687 

that  each  achieves  his  ends  without  preventing  others  from  achieve 
ing  their  ends,  the  members  of  a society  may  give  mutual  help  in 
the  achievement  of  ends.  And  if,  either  indirectly  by  industrial 
co-operation,  or  directly  by  volunteered  aid,  fellow-citizens  can 
make  easier  for  one  another  the  adjustments  of  acts  to  ends,  then 
their  conduct  assumes  a stilt  higher  phase  of  evolution;  since 
whatever  facilitates  the  making  of  adjustments  by  each,  increases 
the  totality  of  the  adjustments  made,  and  serves  to  render  the 
lives  of  all  more  complete. 

§ 7.  After  this  passing  remark,  I recur  to  the  main  proposition 
set  forth  in  these  two  chapters,  which  has,  I think,  been  fully 
justified.  Guided  by  the  truth  that  as  the  conduct  with  which 
Ethics  deals  is  part  of  conduct  at  large,  conduct  at  large  must  be 
generally  understood  before  this  part  can  be  specially  under- 
stood ; and  guided  by  the  further  truth  that  to  understand  conduct 
at  large  we  must  understand  the  evolution  of  conduct;  we  have 
been  led  to  see  that  Ethics  has  for  its  subject-matter,  that  form 
which  universal  conduct  assumes  during  the  last  stages  of  its 
evolution.  We  have  also  concluded  that  these  last  stages  in  the 
evolution  of  conduct  are  those  displayed  by  the  highest  type  of 
being,  when  he  is  forced,  by  increase  of  numbers,  to  live  more  and 
more  in  presence  of  his  fellows.  And  there  has  followed  the  cor- 
ollary that  conduct  gains  ethical  sanction  in  proportion  as  the 
activities,  becoming  less  and  less  militant  and  more  and  more 
industrial,  are  such  as  do  not  necessitate  mutual  injury  or  hin- 
drance, but  consist  with,  and  are  furthered  by,  co-operation  and 
mutual  aid. 


CHAPTER  XV.  ABSOLUTE  AND  RELATIVE 
ETHICS 

§ 99.  As  applied  to  Ethics,  the  word  “absolute”  will  by  many 
be  supposed  to  imply  principles  of  right  conduct  that  exist  out  of 
relation  to  life  as  conditioned  on  the  Earth  — out  of  relation  to 
time  and  place,  and  independent  of  the  Universe  as  now  visible 


688 


HERBERT  SPENCER 


to  us  — “ eternal  ” principles,  as  they  are  called.  Those,  however, 
who  recall  the  doctrine  set  forth  in  “ First  Principles,”  will  hesi- 
tate to  put  this  interpretation  on  the  word.  Right,  as  we  can 
think  it,  necessitates  the  thought  of  not-right,  or  wrong,  for  its 
correlative;  and  hence,  to  ascribe  rightness  to  the  acts  of  the 
Power  manifested  through  phenomena,  is  to  assume  the  possi- 
bility that  wrong  acts  may  be  committed  by  this  Power.  But  how 
come  there  to  exist,  apart  from  this  Power,  conditions  of  such 
kind  that  subordination  of  its  acts  to  them  makes  them  right 
and  insubordination  wrong  ? How  can  Unconditioned  Being  be 
subject  to  conditions  beyond  itself? 

If,  for  example,  any  one  should  assert  that  the  Cause  of  Things, 
conceived  in  respect  of  fundamental  moral  attributes  as  like  our- 
selves, did  right  in  producing  a Universe  which,  in  the  course  of 
immeasurable  time,  has  given  origin  to  beings  capable  of  plea- 
sure, and  would  have  done  wrong  in  abstaining  from  the  produc- 
tion of  such  a Universe;  then,  the  comment  to  be  made  is  that, 
imposing  the  moral  ideas  generated  in  his  finite  consciousness, 
upon  the  Infinite  Existence  which  transcends  consciousness,  he 
goes  behind  that  Infinite  Existence  and  prescribes  for  it  principles 
of  action. 

As  implied  in  foregoing  chapters,  right  and  wrong  as  conceived 
by  us  can  exist  only  in  relation  to  the  actions  of  creatures  capable 
of  pleasures  and  pains;  seeing  that  analysis  carries  us  back  to 
pleasures  and  pains  as  the  elements  out  of  which  the  conceptions 
are  framed. 

But  if  the  word  “absolute,”  as  used  above,  does  not  refer  to 
the  Unconditioned  Being  — if  the  principles  of  action  distin- 
guished as  absolute  and  relative  concern  the  conduct  of  condi- 
tioned beings ; in  what  way  are  the  words  to  be  understood  ? An 
explanation  of  their  meanings  will  be  best  conveyed  by  a criticism 
on  the  current  conceptions  of  right  and  wrong. 

§ loo.  Conversations  about  the  affairs  of  life  habitually  imply 
the  belief  that  every  deed  named  may  be  placed  under  the  one 
head  or  the  other.  In  discussing  a political  question,  both  sides 
take  it  for  granted  that  some  line  of  action  may  be  chosen  which 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  ETHICS 


689 

is  right,  while  all  other  lines  of  action  are  wrong.  So,  too,  is  it 
with  judgments  on  the  doings  of  individuals:  each  of  these  is 
approved  or  disapproved  on  the  assumption  that  it  is  definitely 
classable  as  good  or  bad.  Even  where  qualifications  are  admit- 
ted, they  are  admitted  with*  an  implied  idea  that  some  such 
positive  characterization  is  to  be  made. 

Nor  is  it  in  popular  thought  and  speech  only  that  we  see  this. 
If  not  wholly  and  definitely,  yet  partially  and  by  implication,  the 
belief  is  expressed  by  moralists.  In  his  “ Methods  of  Ethics  ” 
ist  ed.  p.  6)  Mr.  Sidgwick  says:  “That  there  is  in  any  given  cir- 
cumstances some  one  thing  which  ought  to  be  done  and  that  this 
can  be  known,  is  a fundamental  assumption,  made  not  by  philo- 
sophers only,  but  by  all  men  who  perform  any  processes  of  moral 
reasoning.”  ^ In  this  sentence  there  is  specifically  asserted  only 
the  last  of  the  above  propositions;  namely,  that,  in  every  case, 
what  “ought  to  be  done”  “can  be  known.”  But  though  that 
“which  ought  to  be  done”  is  not  distinctly  identified  with  “the 
right,”  it  may  be  inferred,  in  the  absence  of  any  indication  to  the 
contrary,  that  Mr.  Sidgivick  regards  the  two  as  identical;  and 
doubtless,  in  so  conceiving  the  postulates  of  moral  science,  he  is 
at  one  with  most,  if  not  all,  who  have  made  it  a subject  of  study. 
At  first  sight,  indeed,  nothing  seems  more  obvious  than  that  if 
actions  are  to  be  judged  at  all,  these  postulates  must  be  accepted. 
Nevertheless  they  may  both  be  called  in  question,  and  I think 
it  may  be  shown  that  neither  of  them  is  tenable.  Instead  of  ad- 
mitting that  there  is  in  every  case  a right  and  a wrong,  it  may 
be  contended  that  in  multitudinous  cases  no  right,  properly  so- 
called,  can  be  alleged,  but  only  a least  wrong;  and  further,  it  may 
be  contended  that  in  many  of  these  cases  where  there  can  be 
alleged  only  a least  wrong,  it  is  not  possible  to  ascertain  with  any 
precision  which  is  the  least  wrong. 

A great  part  of  the  perplexities  in  ethical  speculation  arise 
from  neglect  of  this  distinction  between  right  and  least  wrong  — 
between  the  absolutely  right  and  the  relatively  right.  And  many 

* I do  not  find  this  passage  in  the  second  edition ; but  the  omission  of  it  appears 
to  have  arisen  not  from  any  change  of  view,  but  because  it  did  not  naturally  come 
into  the  re-cast  form  of  the  argument  which  the  section  contains. 


HERBERT  SPENCER 


690 

further  perplexities  are  due  to  the  assumption  that  it  can,  in  some 
way,  be  decided  in  every  case  which  of  two  courses  is  morally 
obligatory. 

§ loi.  The  law  of  absolute  right  can  take  no  cognizance  of 
pain,  save  the  cognizance  implied  by  negation.  Pain  is  the  cor- 
relative of  some  species  of  wrong  — some  kind  of  divergence  from 
that  course  of  action  which  perfectly  fulfils  all  requirements.  If, 
as  was  shown  in  an  early  chapter,  the  conception  of  good  conduct 
always  proves,  when  analyzed,  to  be  the  conception  of  a conduct 
which  produces  a surplus  of  pleasure  somewhere;  while,  con- 
versely, the  conduct  conceived  as  bad  proves  always  to  be  that 
which  inflicts  somewhere  a surplus  of  either  positive  or  negative 
pain ; then  the  absolutely  good,  the  absolutely  right,  in  conduct, 
can  be  that  only  which  produces  pure  pleasure  — pleasure  unal- 
loyed with  pain  anywhere.  By  implication,  conduct  which  has 
any  concomitant  of  pain,  or  any  painful  consequence,  is  partially 
wrong ; and  the  highest  claim  to  be  made  for  such  conduct  is,  that 
it  is  the  least  wrong  which,  under  the  conditions,  is  possible  — 
the  relatively  right. 

The  contents  of  preceding  chapters  imply  throughout  that  con- 
sidered from  the  evolution  point  of  view,  the  acts  of  men  during 
the  transition  which  has  been,  is  still,  and  long  will  be,  in  pro- 
gress, must,  in  most  cases,  be  of  the  kind  here  classed  as  least 
wrong.  In  proportion  to  the  incongruity  between  the  natures  men 
inherit  from  the  pre-social  state,  and  the  requirements  of  social 
life,  must  be  the  amount  of  pain  entailed  by  their  actions,  either 
on  themselves  or  on  others.  In  so  far  as  pain  is  suffered,  evil  is 
inflicted;  and  conduct  which  inflicts  any  evil  cannot  be  abso- 
lutely good. 

To  make  clear  the  distinction  here  insisted  upon  between  that 
perfect  conduct  which  is  the  subject-matter  of  Absolute  Ethics, 
and  that  imperfect  conduct  which  is  the  subject-matter  of  Rela- 
tive Ethics,  some  illustrations  must  be  given. 

§ 102.  Among  the  best  examples  of  absolutely  right  actions  to 
be  named,  are  those  arising  where  the  nature  and  the  require- 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  ETHICS  691 

ments  have  been  moulded  to  one  another  before  social  evolution 
began.  Two  will  here  suffice. 

Consider  the  relation  of  a healthy  mother  to  a healthy  infant. 
Between  the  two  there  exists  a mutual  dependence  which  is  a 
source  of  pleasure  to  both.  In  yielding  its  natural  food  to  the 
child,  the  mother  receives  gratification;  and  to  the  child  there 
comes  the  satisfaction  of  appetite  — a satisfaction  which  accom- 
panies furtherance  of  life,  growth,  and  increasing  enjoyment. 
Let  the  relation  be  suspended,  and  on  both  sides  there  is  suffering. 
The  mother  experiences  both  bodily  pain  and  mental  pain ; and 
the  painful  sensation  borne  by  the  child,  brings  as  its  results  phys- 
ical mischief  and  some  damage  to  the  emotional  nature.  Thus 
the  act  is  one  that  is  to  both  exclusively  pleasurable,  while  absten- 
tion entails  pain  on  both ; and  it  is  consequently  of  the  kind  we 
here  call  absolutely  right.  In  the  parental  relations  of  the  father 
we  are  furnished  with  a kindred  example.  If  he  is  well  consti- 
tuted in  body  and  mind,  his  boy,  eager  for  play,  finds  in  him  a 
sympathetic  response ; and  their  frolics,  giving  mutual  pleasure, 
not  only  further  the  child’s  physical  welfare,  but  strengthen  that 
bond  of  good  feeling  between  the  two  which  makes  subsequent 
guidance  easier.  And  then  if,  repudiating  the  stupidities  of  early 
education  as  at  present  conceived  and  unhappily  State-enacted, 
he  has  rational  ideas  of  mental  development,  and  sees  that  the 
second-hand  knowledge  gained  through  books  should  begin  to 
supplement  the  first-hand  knowledge  gained  by  direct  observa- 
tion only  when  a good  stock  of  this  has  been  acquired,  he  will, 
with  active  sympathy,  aid  in  that  exploration  of  the  surrounding 
world  which  his  boy  pursues  with  delight;  giving  and  receiving 
gratification  from  moment  to  moment  while  furthering  ultimate 
welfare.  Here,  again,  are  actions  of  a kind  purely  pleasurable 
alike  in  their  immediate  and  remote  effects  — actions  absolutely 
right. 

The  intercourse  of  adults  yields,  for  the  reason  assigned,  rela- 
tively few  cases  that  fall  completely  within  the  same  category. 
In  their  transactions  from  hour  to  hour,  more  or  less  of  deduction 
from  pure  gratification  is  caused  on  one  or  other  side  by  imperfect 
fitness  to  the  requirements.  The  pleasures  men  gain  by  labouring 


692  HERBERT  SPENCER 

in  their  vocations  and  receiving  in  one  form  or  other  returns  for 
their  services,  usually  have  the  drawback  that  the  labours  are  in 
a considerable  degree  displeasurable.  Cases,  however,  do  occur 
where  the  energies  are  so  abundant  that  inaction  is  irksome; 
and  where  the  daily  work,  not  too  great  in  duration,  is  of  a kind 
appropriate  to  the  nature ; and  where,  as  a consequence,  pleasure 
rather  than  pain  is  a concomitant.  When  services  yielded  by  such 
a one  are  paid  for  by  another  similarly  adapted  to  his  occupation, 
the  entire  transaction  is  of  the  kind  we  are  here  considering: 
exchange  under  agreement  between  two  so  constituted,  becomes 
a means  of  pleasure  to  both,  with  no  set-off  of  pain.  Bearing  in 
mind  the  form  of  nature  which  social  discipline  is  producing,  as 
shown  in  the  contrast  between  savage  and  civilized,  the  implica- 
tion is  that  ultimately  men’s  activities  at  large  will  assume  this 
character.  Remembering  that  in  the  course  of  organic  evolution, 
the  means  to  enjoyment  themselves  eventually  become  sources 
of  enjoyment ; and  that  there  is  no  form  of  action  which  may  not 
through  the  development  of  appropriate  structures  become  pleas- 
urable ; the  inference  must  be  that  industrial  activities  carried  on 
through  voluntary  co-operation,  will  in  time  acquire  the  character 
of  absolute  rightness  as  here  conceived.  Already,  indeed,  some- 
thing like  such  a state  has  been  reached  among  certain  of  those 
who  minister  to  our  aesthetic  gratifications.  The  artist  of  genius 
— poet,  painter,  or  musician  — is  one  who  obtains  the  means  of 
living  by  acts  that  are  directly  pleasurable  to  him,  while  they 
yield,  immediately  or  remotely,  pleasures  to  others.  Once  more, 
among  absolutely  right  acts  may  be  named  certain  of  those  which 
we  class  as  benevolent.  I say  certain  of  them,  because  such  bene- 
volent acts  as  entail  submission  to  pain,  positive  or  negative,  that 
others  may  receive  pleasure,  are,  by  the  definition,  excluded.  But 
there  are  benevolent  acts  of  a kind  yielding  pleasure  solely.  Some 
one  who  has  slipped  is  saved  from  falling  by  a by-stander ; a hurt 
is  prevented  and  satisfaction  is  felt  by  both.  A pedestrian  is  choos- 
ing a dangerous  route,  or  a fellow-passenger  is  about  to  alight  at 
the  wrong  station,  and,  warned  against  doing  so,  is  saved  from 
evil : each  being,  as  a consequence,  gratified.  There  is  a misunder- 
standing between  friends,  and  one  who  sees  how  it  has  arisen,  ex- 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  ETHICS  693 

plains ; the  result  being  agreeable  to  all.  Services  to  those  around 
in  the  small  affairs  of  life,  may  be,  and  often  are,  of  a kind  which 
there  is  equal  pleasure  in  giving  and  receiving.  Indeed,  as  was 
urged  in  the  last  chapter,  the  actions  of  developed  altruism  must 
habitually  have  this  character.  And  so,  in  countless  ways  sug- 
gested by  these  few,  men  may  add  to  one  another’s  happiness 
without  anywhere  producing  imhappiness  — ways  which  are 
therefore  absolutely  right. 

In  contrast  with  these,  consider  the  many  actions  which  from 
hour  to  hour  are  gone  through,  now  with  an  accompaniment  of 
some  pain  to  the  actor  and  now  bringing  results  that  are  partially 
painful  to  others,  but  which  nevertheless  are  imperative.  As  im- 
plied by  antithesis  with  cases  above  referred  to,  the  wearisomeness 
of  productive  laboiu  as  ordinarily  pursued,  renders  it  in  so  far 
wrong;  but  then  far  greater  suffering  would  result,  both  to  the 
labourer  and  his  family,  and  therefore  far  greater  wrong  would 
be  done,  were  this  wearisomeness  not  borne.  Though  the  pains 
which  the  care  of  many  children  entail  on  a mother,  form  a con- 
siderable set-off  from  the  pleasures  secured  by  them  to  her  chil- 
dren and  herself;  yet  the  miseries,  immediate  and  remote,  which 
neglect  would  entail  so  far  exceed  them,  that  submission  to  such 
pains  up  to  the  limit  of  physical  ability  to  bear  them,  becomes 
morally  imperative  as  being  the  least  wTong.  A servant  who  fails 
to  fulfil  an  agreement  in  respect  of  work,  or  who  is  perpetually 
breaking  crockery,  or  who  pilfers,  may  have  to  suffer  pain  from 
being  discharged ; but  since  the  evil  to  be  borne  by  all  concerned 
if  incapacity  or  misconduct  is  tolerated,  not  in  one  case  only  but 
habitually,  must  be  much  greater,  such  infliction  of  pain  is  war- 
ranted as  a means  to  preventing  greater  pain.  Withdrawal  of 
custom  from  a tradesman  whose  charges  are  too  high,  or  whose 
commodities  are  inferior,  or  who  gives  short  measure,  or  who  is 
unpunctual,  decreases  his  welfare,  and  perhaps  injures  his  be- 
longings ; but  as  saving  him  from  these  evils  would  imply  bearing 
the  evils  his  conduct  causes,  and  as  such  regard  for  his  well-being 
would  imply  disregard  of  the  well-being  of  some  more  worthy  or 
more  efficient  tradesman  to  whom  the  custom  would  else  go,  and 
as,  chiefly,  general  adoption  of  the  implied  course,  having  the 


HERBERT  SPENCER 


694 

effect  that  the  inferior  would  not  suffer  from  their  inferiority  nor 
the  superior  gain  by  their  superiority,  would  produce  universal 
misery,  withdrawal  is  justified  — the  act  is  relatively  right. 

§ 103.  I pass  now  to  the  second  of  the  two  propositions  above 
enunciated.  After  recognizing  the  truth  that  a large  part  of 
human  conduct  is  not  absolutely  right,  but  only  relatively  right, 
we  have  to  recognize  the  further  truth  that  in  many  cases  where 
there  is  no  absolutely  right  course,  but  only  courses  that  are  more 
or  less  wrong,  it  is  not  possible  to  say  which  is  the  least  wrong. 
Recurrence  to  the  instances  just  given  will  show  this. 

There  is  a point  up  to  which  it  is  relatively  right  for  a parent 
to  carry  self-sacrifice  for  the  benefit  of  offspring;  and  there  is  a 
point  beyond  which  self-sacrifice  cannot  be  pushed  without  bring- 
ing, not  only  on  himself  or  herself  but  also  on  the  family,  evils 
greater  than  those  to  be  prevented  by  the  self-sacrifice.  Who  shall 
say  where  this  point  is?  Depending  on  the  constitutions  and 
needs  of  those  concerned,  it  is  in  no  two  cases  the  same,  and  can- 
not be  by  any  one  more  than  guessed.  The  transgressions  or 
shortcomings  of  a servant  vary  from  the  trivial  to  the  grave,  and 
the  evils  which  discharge  may  bring  range  through  countless  de- 
grees from  slight  to  serious.  The  penalty  may  be  inflicted  for  a 
very  small  offence,  and  then  there  is  wrong  done;  or  after  nu- 
merous grave  offences  it  may  not  be  inflicted,  and  again  there  is 
wrong  done.  How  shall  be  determined  the  degree  of  transgression 
beyond  which  to  discharge  is  less  wrong  than  not  to  discharge  ? 
In  like  manner  with  the  shopkeeper’s  misdemeanours.  No  one 
can  sum  up  either  the  amount  of  positive  and  negative  pain 
wliich  tolerating  them  involves,  nor  the  amount  of  positive  and 
negative  pain  involved  by  not  tolerating  them;  and  in  medium 
cases  no  one  can  say  where  the  one  exceeds  the  other. 

In  men’s  wider  relations  frequently  occur  circumstances  under 
which  a decision  one  or  other  way  is  imperative,  and  yet  under 
which  not  even  the  most  sensitive  conscience  helped  by  the  clear- 
est judgment,  can  decide  which  of  the  alternatives  is  relatively 
right.  Two  examples  will  suffice.  Here  is  a merchant  who  loses 
by  the  failure  of  a man  indebted  to  him.  Unless  he  gets  help  he 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  ETHICS  695 

himself  will  fail ; and  if  he  fails,  he  will  bring  disaster  not  only  on 
his  family  but  on  all  who  have  given  him  credit.  Even  if  by  bor- 
rowing he  is  enabled  to  meet  immediate  engagements,  he  is  not 
safe;  for  the  time  is  one  of  panic,  and  others  of  his  debtors  by 
going  to  the  wall  may  put  him  in  further  difficulties.  Shall  he 
ask  a friend  for  a loan  ? On  the  one  hand,  is  it  not  wrong  forth- 
with to  bring  on  himself,  his  family,  and  those  who  have  business 
relations  with  him,  the  evils  of  his  failure  ? On  the  other  hand,  is 
it  not  wrong  to  hypothecate  the  property  of  his  friend,  and  lead 
him  too,  with  his  belongings  and  dependents,  into  similar  risks  ? 
The  loan  would  probably  tide  him  over  his  difficulty;  in  which 
case  would  it  not  be  unjust  to  his  creditors  did  he  refrain  from 
asking  it?  Contrariwise,  the  loan  would  very  possibly  fail  to 
stave  off  his  bankruptcy ; in  which  case  is  not  his  action  in  trying 
to  obtain  it,  practically  fraudulent?  Though  in  extreme  cases  it 
may  be  easy  to  say  which  course  is  the  least  wrong,  how  is  it  pos- 
sible in  all  those  medium  cases  where  even  by  the  keenest  man  of 
business  the  contingencies  cannot  be  calculated  ? Take,  again, 
the  difficulties  that  not  unfrequently  arise  from  antagonism  be- 
tween family  duties  and  social  duties.  Here  is  a tenant  farmer 
whose  political  principles  prompt  him  to  vote  in  opposition  to  his 
landlord.  If,  being  a Liberal,  he  votes  for  a Conservative,  not 
only  does  he  by  his  act  say  that  he  thinks  what  he  does  not  think, 
but  he  may  perhaps  assist  what  he  regards  as  bad  legislation: 
his  vote  may  by  chance  turn  the  election,  and  on  a Parliamentary 
division  a single  member  may  decide  the  fate  of  a measure.  Even 
neglecting,  as  too  improbable,  such  serious  consequences,  there  is 
the  manifest  truth  that  if  all  who  hold  like  views  with  himself, 
are  similarly  deterred  from  electoral  expression  of  them,  there 
must  result  a different  balance  of  power  and  a different  national 
policy : making  it  clear  that  only  by  adherence  of  all  to  their  po- 
litical principles,  can  the  policy  he  thinks  right  be  maintained. 
But  now,  on  the  other  hand,  how  can  he  absolve  himself  from 
responsibility  for  the  evils  which  those  depending  on  him  may 
suffer  if  he  fulfils  what  appears  to  be  a peremptory  public  duty  ? 
Is  not  his  duty  to  his  children  even  more  peremptory  ? Does  not 
the  family  precede  the  State;  and  does  not  the  welfare  of  the  State 


HERBERT  SPENCER 


696 

depend  on  the  welfare  of  the  family  ? May  he,  then,  take  a course 
which,  if  the  threats  uttered  are  carried  out,  will  eject  him  from 
his  farm ; and  so  cause  inability,  perhaps  temporary,  perhaps  pro- 
longed, to  feed  his  children?  The  contingent  evils  are  infinitely 
varied  in  their  ratios.  In  one  case  the  imperativeness  of  the  public 
duty  is  great  and  the  evil  that  may  come  on  dependents  small;  in 
another  case  the  political  issue  is  of  trivial  moment  and  the  possi- 
ble injury  which  the  family  may  suffer  is  great ; and  between  these 
extremes  there  are  all  gradations.  Further,  the  degrees  of  proba- 
bility of  each  result,  public  and  private,  range  from  the  nearly 
certain  to  the  almost  impossible.  Admitting,  then,  that  it  is  wrong 
to  act  in  a way  likely  to  injure  the  State;  and  admitting  that  it  is 
wrong  to  act  in  a way  likely  to  injure  the  family ; we  have  to  recog- 
nize the  fact  that  in  countless  cases  no  one  can  decide  by  which 
of  the  alternative  courses  the  least  wrong  is  likely  to  be  done. 

These  instances  will  sufficiently  show  that  in  conduct  at  large, 
including  men’s  dealings  with  themselves,  with  their  families, 
with  their  friends,  with  their  debtors  and  creditors,  and  with  the 
public,  it  usually  happens  that  whatever  course  is  taken  entails 
some  pain  somewhere;  forming  a deduction  from  the  pleasure 
achieved,  and  making  the  course  in  so  far  not  absolutely  right. 
Further,  they  will  show  that  throughout  a considerable  part  of 
conduct,  no  guiding  principle,  no  method  of  estimation,  enables 
us  to  say  whether  a proposed  course  is  even  relatively  right ; as 
causing,  proximately  and  remotely,  specially  and  generally,  the 
greatest  surplus  of  good  over  evil. 

§ 104.  And  now  we  are  prepared  for  dealing  in  a systematic 
way  with  the  distinction  between  Absolute  Ethics  and  Relative 
Ethics. 

Scientific  truths,  of  whatever  order,  are  reached  by  eliminating 
perturbing  or  conflicting  factors,  and  recognizing  only  funda- 
mental factors.  When,  by  dealing  with  fundamental  factors  in 
the  abstract,  not  as  presented  in  actual  phenomena  but  as  pre- 
sented in  ideal  separation,  general  laws  have  been  ascertained,  it 
becomes  possible  to  draw  inferences  in  concrete  cases  by  taking 
into  account  incidental  factors.  But  it  is  only  by  first  ignoring 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  ETHICS  697 

these  and  recognizing  the  essential  elements  alone,  that  we  can 
discover  the  essential  truths  sought.  Take,  in  illustration,  the 
progress  of  mechanics  from  its  empirical  form  to  its  rational 
form. 

All  have  occasional  experience  of  the  fact  that  a person  pushed 
on  one  side  beyond  a certain  degree,  loses  his  balance  and  falls. 
It  is  observed  that  a stone  flung  or  an  arrow  shot,  does  not  pro- 
ceed in  a straight  line,  but  comes  to  the  earth  after  pursuing  a 
course  which  deviates  more  and  more  from  its  original  course. 
When  trying  to  break  a stick  across  the  knee,  it  is  found  that  suc- 
cess is  easier  if  the  stick  is  seized  at  considerable  distances  from 
the  knee  on  each  side  than  if  seized  close  to  the  knee.  Daily  use 
of  a spear  draws  attention  to  the  truth  that  by  thrusting  its  point 
under  a stone  and  depressing  the  shaft,  the  stone  may  be  raised 
the  more  readily  the  further  away  the  hand  is  towards  the  end. 
Here,  then,  are  sundry  experiences,  eventually  grouped  into  em- 
pirical generalizations,  which  serve  to  guide  conduct  in  certain 
simple  cases.  How  does  mechanical  science  evolve  from  these 
experiences?  To  reach  a formula  expressing  the  powers  of  the 
lever,  it  supposes  a lever  which  does  not,  like  the  stick,  admit  of 
being  bent,  but  is  absolutely  rigid;  and  it  supposes  a fulcrum 
not  having  a broad  surface,  like  that  of  one  ordinarily  used,  but 
a fulcrum  without  breadth ; and  it  supposes  that  the  weight  to  be 
raised  bears  on  a definite  point,  instead  of  bearing  over  a con- 
siderable portion  of  the  lever.  Similarly  with  the  leaning  body, 
which,  passing  a certain  inclination,  overbalances.  Before  the 
truth  respecting  the  relations  of  centre  of  gravity  and  base  can 
be  formulated,  it  must  be  assumed  that  the  surface  on  which  the 
body  stands  is  unyielding ; that  the  edge  of  the  body  itself  is  un- 
yielding ; and  that  its  mass,  while  made  to  lean  more  and  more, 
does  not  change  its  form  — conditions  not  fulfilled  in  the  cases 
commonly  observed.  And  so,  too,  is  it  with  the  projectile : deter- 
mination of  its  course  by  deduction  from  mechanical  laws,  pri- 
marily ignores  all  deviations  caused  by  its  shape  and  by  the  re- 
sistance of  the  air.  The  science  of  rational  mechanics  is  a science 
which  consists  of  such  ideal  truths,  and  can  come  into  existence 
only  by  thus  dealing  with  ideal  cases.  It  remains  impossible 


HERBERT  SPENCER 


698 

so  long  as  attention  is  restricted  to  concrete  cases  presenting  all 
the  complications  of  friction,  plasticity,  and  so  forth.  But  now, 
after  disentangling  certain  fundamental  mechanical  truths,  it 
becomes  possible  by  their  help  to  guide  actions  better;  and  it 
becomes  possible  to  guide  them  still  better,  when  as  presently  hap- 
pens, the  complicating  elements  from  which  they  have  been  dis- 
entangled are  themselves  taken  into  account.  At  an  advanced 
stage,  the  modifying  effects  of  friction  are  allowed  for,  and  the 
inferences  are  qualified  to  the  requisite  extent.  The  theory  of  the 
pulley  is  corrected  in  its  application  to  actual  cases  by  recognizing 
the  rigidity  of  cordage ; the  effects  of  which  are  formulated.  The 
stabilities  of  masses,  determinable  in  the  abstract  by  reference  to 
the  centres  of  gravity  of  the  masses  in  relation  to  the  bases,  come 
to  be  determined  in  the  concrete  by  including  also  their  char- 
acters in  respect  of  cohesion.  The  courses  of  projectiles  having 
been  theoretically  settled  as  though  they  moved  through  a vac- 
uum, are  afterwards  settled  in  more  exact  correspondence  with 
fact  by  taking  into  account  atmospheric  resistance.  And  thus 
we  see  illustrated  the  relation  between  certain  absolute  truths  of 
mechanical  science,  and  certain  relative  truths  which  involve 
them.  We  are  shown  that  no  scientific  establishment  of  rela- 
tive truths  is  possible,  until  the  absolute  truths  have  been  formu- 
lated independently.  We  see  that  mechanical  science  fitted  for 
dealing  with  the  real,  can  arise  only  after  ideal  mechanical  sci- 
ence has  arisen. 

All  this  holds  of  moral  science.  As  by  early  and  rude  experi- 
ences there  were  inductively  reached,  vague  but  partially-true 
notions  respecting  the  overbalancing  of  bodies,  the  motions  of 
missiles,  the  actions  of  levers;  so  by  early  and  rude  experiences 
there  were  inductively  reached,  vague  but  partially-true  notions 
respecting  the  effects  of  men’s  behaviour  on  themselves,  on  one 
another,  and  on  society : to  a certain  extent  serving  in  the  last 
case,  as  in  the  first,  for  the  guidance  of  conduct.  Moreover,  as 
this  rudimentary  mechanical  knowledge,  though  still  remaining 
empirical,  becomes  during  early  stages  of  civilization  at  once 
more  definite  and  more  extensive;  so  during  early  stages  of  civili- 
zation these  ethical  ideas,  still  retaining  their  empirical  character. 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  ETHICS  699 

increase  in  precision  and  multiplicity.  But  just  as  we  have  seen 
that  mechanical  knowledge  of  the  empirical  sort  can  evolve  into 
mechanical  science,  only  by  first  omitting  all  qualifying  circum- 
stances, and  generalizing  in  absolute  ways  the  fundamental  laws 
of  forces ; so  here  we  have  to  see  that  empirical  ethics  can  evolve 
into  rational  ethics  only  by  first  neglecting  all  complicating  inci- 
dents, and  formulating  the  laws  of  right  action  apart  from  the 
obscuring  effects  of  special  conditions.  And  the  final  implication 
is  that  just  as  the  system  of  mechanical  truths,  conceived  in  ideal 
separation  as  absolute,  becomes  applicable  to  real  mechanical 
problems  in  such  way  that  making  allowance  for  all  incidental 
circumstances  there  can  be  reached  conclusions  far  nearer  to  the 
truth  than  could  otherwise  be  reached ; so,  a system  of  ideal  ethi- 
cal truths,  expressing  the  absolutely  right,  will  be  applicable  to 
the  questions  of  our  transitional  state  in  such  ways  that,  allowing 
for  the  friction  of  an  incomplete  life  and  the  imperfection  of  exist- 
ing natures,  we  may  ascertain  with  approximate  correctness  what 
is  the  relatively  right. 

§ 106.  And  now  let  it  be  observed  that  the  conception  of 
ethics  thus  set  forth,  strange  as  many  will  think  it,  is  one  which 
really  lies  latent  in  the  beliefs  of  moralists  at  large.  Though  not 
definitely  acknowledged,  it  is  vaguely  implied  in  many  of  their 
propositions. 

From  early  times  downwards  we  find  in  ethical  speculations, 
references  to  the  ideal  man,  his  acts,  his  feelings,  his  judgments. 
When  Socrates  said  that  well-doing  is  the  thing  to  be  chiefly 
studied,  and  that  he  achieved  it  who  devoted  to  the  study  search- 
ing and  labour,  he  made  the  actions  of  the  superior  man  his  stand- 
ard, since  he  gave  no  other.  Plato,  in  Minos,  asserts  that  “the 
authoritative  rescripts  or  laws  are  those  laid  down  by  the  artists 
or  men  of  knowledge  in  that  department  ” ; and  the  doctrine  con- 
tained in  Laches  is  that  only  “ the  One  Wise  Man  can  estimate 
the  good  or  evil,  or  the  comparative  value  of  two  alternative  ends 
in  each  individual  case” : an  ideal  man  is  postulated.  Aristotle 
says:  “For  it  is  the  man  whose  condition,  whether  moral  or 
bodily,  is  in  each  case  perfect  who  in  each  case  judges  rightly, 


700 


HERBERT  SPENCER 


and  at  once  perceives  the  truth.  , . . And  herein  it  is  that  the 
perfect  man  may  be  said  to  differ  most  widely  from  all  others,  in 
that  in  all  such  cases  he  at  once  perceives  the  truth,  being,  as 
it  were,  the  rule  and  measure  of  its  application.”  While  observ- 
ing that  the  Stoics,  like  other  ancient  philosophers,  failing  to  dis- 
tinguish properly  between  intellect  and  feeling,  identified  wisdom 
with  goodness,  we  see  that  they,  too,  made  the  perfect  man  the 
measure  of  rectitude.  And  Epicurus,  also,  regards  the  wise  man 
as  the  only  one  who  can  achieve  a happy  life  — “ he  alone  knows 
how  to  do  the  right  thing  in  the  right  way.” 

If  in  modern  times,  influenced  by  theological  dogmas  concern- 
ing human  sinfulness,  and  by  a theory  of  divinely  prescribed  con- 
duct, moralists  ha,ve  not  so  frequently  referred  to  an  ideal,  yet 
various  references  are  traceable.  We  may  see  one  in  the  dictum 
of  Kant  — “Act  only  on  that  maxim  whereby  thou  canst  at  the 
same  time  will  that  it  should  become  a universal  law.”  For  this 
implies  the  thought  of  a society  in  which  the  maxim  is  acted  upon 
by  all  and  universal  benefit  recognized  as  the  effect:  there  is  a 
conception  of  ideal  conduct  under  ideal  conditions.  And  though 
Mr.  Sidgwick,  in  the  quotation  above  made  from  him,  implies 
that  Ethics  is  concerned  with  man  as  he  is,  rather  than  with  man 
as  he  should  be;  yet,  in  elsewhere  speaking  of  Ethics  as  dealing 
with  conduct  as  it  should  be,  rather  than  with  conduct  as  it  is,  he 
postulates  ideal  conduct  and  indirectly  the  ideal  man.  On  his 
first  page,  speaking  of  Ethics  along  with  Jurisprudence  and  Poli- 
tics, he  says  that  they  are  distinguished  “by  the  characteristic 
that  they  attempt  to  determine  not  the  actual  but  the  ideal  — 
what  ought  to  exist,  not  what  does  exist.” 

It  requires  only  that  these  various  conceptions  of  an  ideal  con- 
duct and  of  an  ideal  humanity,  should  be  made  consistent  and 
definite,  to  bring  them  into  agreement  with  the  conception  above 
set  forth.  At  present  such  conceptions  are  habitually  vague.  The 
ideal  man  having  been  conceived  in  terms  of  the  current  morality, 
is  thereupon  erected  into  a moral  standard  by  which  the  goodness 
of  actions  may  be  judged;  and  the  reasoning  becomes  circular. 
To  make  the  ideal  man  serve  as  a standard,  he  has  to  be  defined 
in  terms  of  the  conditions  which  his  nature  fulfils  — in  terms  of 


THE  PRINCIPLES  OF  ETHICS 


701 


those  objective  requirements  which  must  be  met  before  conduct 
can  be  right;  and  the  common  defect  of  these  conceptions  of 
the  ideal  man,  is  that  they  suppose  him  out  of  relation  to  such 
conditions. 

All  the  above  references  to  him,  direct  or  indirect,  imply  that 
the  ideal  man  is  supposed  to  live  and  act  under  existing  social 
conditions.  The  tacit  inquiry  is,  not  what  his  actions  would  be 
under  circumstances  altogether  changed,  but  what  they  would 
be  under  present  circumstances.  And  this  inquiry  is  futile  for 
two  reasons.  The  co-existence  of  a perfect  man  and  an  imper- 
fect society  is  impossible;  and  could  the  two  co-exist,  the  result- 
ing conduct  would  not  furnish  the  ethical  standard  sought.  In 
the  first  place,  given  the  laws  of  life  as  they  are,  and  a man  of 
ideal  nature  cannot  be  produced  in  a society  consisting  of  men 
having  natures  remote  from  the  ideal.  As  well  might  we  expect 
a child  of  English  type  to  be  born  among  Negroes,  as  expect  that 
among  the  organically  immoral,  one  who  is  organically  moral  will 
arise.  Unless  it  be  denied  that  character  results  from  inherited 
structure,  it  must  be  admitted  that  since,  in  any  society,  each 
individual  descends  from  a stock  which,  traced  back  a few  gen- 
erations, ramifies  everywhere  through  the  society,  and  partici- 
pates in  its  average  nature,  there  must,  notwithstanding  marked 
individual  diversities,  be  preserved  such  community  as  prevents 
any  one  from  reaching  an  ideal  form  while  the  rest  remain  far 
below  it.  In  the  second  place,  ideal  conduct  such  as  ethical 
theory  is  concerned  with,  is  not  possible  for  the  ideal  man  in 
the  midst  of  men  otherwise  constituted.  An  absolutely  just  or 
perfectly  sympathetic  person,  could  not  live  and  act  according 
to  his  nature  in  a tribe  of  cannibals.  Among  people  who  are 
treacherous  and  utterly  without  scruple,  entire  truthfulness  and 
openness  must  bring  ruin.  If  all  around  recognize  only  the  law 
of  the  strongest,  one  whose  nature  will  not  allow  him  to  inflict  pain 
on  others,  must  go  to  the  wall.  There  requires  a certain  congruity 
between  the  conduct  of  each  member  of  a society  and  others’ 
conduct.  A mode  of  action  entirely  alien  to  the  prevailing  modes 
of  action,  cannot  be  successfully  persisted  in  — must  eventuate  in 
death  to  self,  or  posterity,  or  both. 


702 


HERBERT  SPENCER 


Hence  it  is  manifest  that  we  must  consider  the  ideal  man  as 
existing  in  the  ideal  social  state.  On  the  evolution-hypothesis, 
the  two  presuppose  one  another;  and  only  when  they  co-exist, 
can  there  exist  that  ideal  conduct  which  Absolute  Ethics  has 
to  formulate,  and  which  Relative  Ethics  has  to  take  as  the  stand 
ard  by  which  to  estimate  divergencies  from  right,  or  degrees  of 
wrong. 


HENRY  SIDGWIGK 

(1838-1900) 


THE  METHODS  OF  ETHICS* 

BOOK  III.  CHAPTER  XIV.  ULTIMATE  GOOD 

§ I.  At  the  outset  of  this  treatise  ^ I noticed  that  there  are  two 
forms  in  which  the  object  of  ethical  inquiry  is  considered;  it  is 
sometimes  regarded  as  a Rule  or  Rules  of  Conduct,  “ the  Right,” 
sometimes  as  an  end  or  ends,  “the  Good.”  I pointed  out  that  in 
the  moral  consciousness  of  modern  Europe  the  two  notions  are 
prima  facie  distinct ; since  while  it  is  commonly  thought  that  the 
obligation  to  obey  moral  rules  is  absolute,  it  is  not  commonly  held 
that  the  whole  Good  of  man  lies  in  such  obedience ; this  view,  we 
may  say,  is  — vaguely  and  respectfully  but  unmistakably  — re- 
pudiated as  a Stoical  paradox.  The  ultimate  Good  or  Wellbeing 
of  man  is  rather  regarded  as  an  ulterior  result,  the  connexion  of 
which  with  his  Right  Conduct  is  indeed  commonly  held  to  be  cer- 
tain, but  is  frequently  conceived  as  supernatural,  and  so  beyond 
the  range  of  independent  ethical  speculation.  But  now,  if  the 
conclusions  of  the  preceding  chapters  are  to  be  trusted,  it  would 
seem  that  the  practical  determination  of  Right  Conduct  depends 
on  the  determination  of  Ultimate  Good.  For  we  have  seen  {a) 
that  most  of  the  commonly  received  maxims  of  Duty  — even  of 
those  which  at  first  sight  appear  absolute  and  independent  — are 
found  when  closely  examined  to  contain  an  implicit  subordination 
to  the  more  general  principles  of  Prudence  and  Benevolence;  and 
(6)  that  no  principles  except  these,  and  the  formal  principle  of 
Justice  or  Equity,  can  be  admitted  as  at  once  intuitively  clear  and 
certain;  while,  again,  these  principles  themselves,  so  far  as  they 
are  self-evident,  may  be  stated  as  precepts  to  seek  (i)  one’s  own 
good  on  the  whole,  repressing  all  seductive  impulses  prompting 

* 1st  ed.,  London,  Macmillan  & Co.  Ltd.,  1874;  6th  ed.  1901. 

^ See  The  Methods  of  Ethics,  Book  i.,  chap,  i.,  § 2. 


HENRY  SIDGWICK 


704 

to  undue  preference  of  particular  goods,  and  (2)  others’  good  no 
less  than  one’s  own,  repressing  any  undue  preference  for  one  in- 
dividual over  another.  Thus  we  are  brought  round  again  to  the 
old  question  with  -which  ethical  speculation  in  Europe  began, 
“What  is  the  Ultimate  Good  for  man?”  — though  not  in  the 
egoistic  form  in  which  the  old  question  was  raised.  When,  how- 
ever, we  examine  the  controversies  to  which  this  question  origi- 
nally led,  we  see  that  the  investigation  which  has  brought  us 
round  to  it  has  tended  definitely  to  exclude  one  of  the  answers 
which  early  moral  reflection  was  disposed  to  give  to  it.  For  to 
say  that  “General  Good”  consists  solely  in  general  Virtue  — 
if  we  mean  by  Virtue  conformity  to  such  prescriptions  and  pro- 
hibitions as  make  up  the  main  part  of  the  morality  of  Common 
Sense  — would  obviously  involve  us  in  a logical  circle ; since  we 
have  seen  that  the  exact  determination  of  these  prescriptions 
and  prohibitions  must  depend  on  the  definition  of  this  General 
Good. 

Nor,  I conceive,  can  this  argument  be  evaded  by  adopting  the 
view  of  what  I have  called  “^Esthetic  Intuitionism”  and  regard- 
ing Virtues  as  excellences  of  conduct  clearly  discernible  by  trained 
insight,  although  their  nature  does  not  admit  of  being  stated  in 
definite  formulae.  For  our  notions  of  special  virtues  do  not  really 
become  more  independent  by  becoming  more  indefinite;  they 
still  contain,  though  perhaps  more  latently,  the  same  reference  to 
“ Good”  or  “Wellbeing”  as  an  ultimate  standard.  This  appears 
clearly  when  we  consider  any  virtue  in  relation  to  the  cognate 
vice  — or  at  least  non-virtue  — into  which  it  tends  to  pass  over 
when  pushed  to  an  extreme,  or  exhibited  under  inappropriate 
conditions.  For  example,  Common  Sense  may  seem  to  regard 
Liberality,  Frugality,  Courage,  Placability,  as  intrinsically  desir- 
able : but  when  we  consider  their  relation  respectively  to  Profu- 
sion, Meanness,  Foolhardiness,  Weakness,  we  find  that  Common 
Sense  draws  the  line  in  each  case  not  by  immediate  intuition, 
but  by  reference  either  to  some  definite  maxim  of  duty,  or 
to  the  general  notion  of  “Good”  or  Wellbeing:  and  similarly 
when  we  ask  at  what  point  Candour,  Generosity,  Humility  cease 
to  be  virtues  by  becoming  “excessive.”  Other  qualities  com- 


THE  METHODS  OF  ETHICS  705 

monly  admired,  such  as  Energy,  Zeal,  Self-control,  Thoughtful- 
ness, are  obviously  regarded  as  virtues  only  when  they  are  di- 
rected to  good  ends.  In  short,  the  only  so-called  Virtues  which 
can  be  thought  to  be  essentially  and  always  such,  and  incapable 
of  excess,  are  such  qualities  as  Wisdom,  Universal  Benevolence, 
and  (in  a sense)  Justice;  of  which  the  notions  manifestly  involve 
this  notion  of  Good,  supposed  already  determinate.  Wisdom  is 
insight  into  Good  and  the  means  to  Good;  Benevolenee  is  ex- 
hibited in  the  purposive  actions  called  “doing  Good”:  Justice 
(when  regarded  as  essentially  and  always  a Virtue)  lies  in  distrib- 
uting Good  (or  evil)  impartially  according  to  right  rules.  If  then 
we  are  asked  what  is  this  Good  which  it  is  excellent  to  know,  to 
bestow  on  others,  to  distribute  impartially,  it  would  be  obviously 
absurd  to  reply  that  it  is  just  this  knowledge,  these  beneficent 
purposes,  this  impartial  distribution. 

Nor,  again,  can  I perceive  that  this  difficulty  is  in  any  way  met 
by  regarding  Virtue  as  a quality  of  “character”  rather  than  of 
“conduct,”  and  expressing  the  moral  law  in  the  form,  “ Be  this,” 
instead  of  the  form,  “Do  this.”  ^ From  a practical  point  of 
view,  indeed,  I fully  recognise  the  importance  of  urging  that  men 
should  aim  at  an  ideal  of  character,  and  consider  action  in  its 
effects  on  character.  But  I cannot  infer  from  this  that  character 
and  its  elements  — faculties,  habits,  or  dispositions  of  any  kind  — 
are  the  constituents  of  Ultimate  Good.  It  seems  to  me  that  the 
opposite  is  implied  in  the  very  conception  of  a faculty  or  disposi- 
tion ; it  can  only  be  defined  as  a tendency  to  act  or  feel  in  a certain 
way  under  certain  conditions;  and  such  a tendency  appears  to 
me  clearly  not  valuable  in  itself  but  for  the  acts  and  feelings  in 
which  it  takes  effect,  or  for  the  ulterior  consequences  of  these,  — 
which  consequences,  again,  cannot  be  regarded  as  Ultimate 
Good,  so  long  as  they  are  merely  conceived  as  modifications  of 
faculties,  dispositions,  etc.  When,  therefore,  I say  that  effects  on 
character  are  important,  it  is  a summary  way  of  saying  that  by  the 
laws  of  our  mental  constitution  the  present  act  or  feeling  is  a cause 
tending  to  modify  importantly  our  acts  and  feelings  in  the  indefi- 
nite future : the  comparatively  permanent  result  supposed  to  be 

* Cf.  Leslie  Stephen’s  Science  of  Ethics,  chap,  iv.,  § i6. 


HENRY  SIDGWICK 


706 

produced  in  the  mind  or  soul,  being  a tendency  that  will  show 
itself  in  an  indefinite  number  of  particular  acts  and  feelings,  may 
easily  be  more  important,  in  relation  to  the  ultimate  end,  than 
a single  act  or  the  transient  feeling  of  a single  moment : but  its 
comparative  permanence  appears  to  me  no  ground  for  regarding 
it  as  itself  a constituent  of  ultimate  good. 

§ 2.  So  far,  however,  I have  been  speaking  only  of  particular 
virtues,  as  exhibited  in  conduct  judged  to  be  objectively  right: 
and  it  may  be  argued  that  this  is  too  external  a view  of  the  Vir- 
tue that  claims  to  constitute  Ultimate  Good.  It  may  be  said  that 
the  difficulty  that  I have  been  urging  vanishes  if  we  penetrate 
beyond  the  particular  virtues  to  the  root  and  essence  of  virtue  in 
general,  — the  determination  of  the  will  to  do  whatever  is  judged 
to  be  right  and  to  aim  at  realising  whatever  is  judged  to  be  best; 
— since  this  subjective  rightness  or  goodness  of  will,  being  inde- 
pendent of  knowledge  of  what  is  objectively  right  or  good,  is  in- 
dependent of  that  presupposition  of  Good  as  already  known  and 
determined,  which  we  have  seen  to  be  implied  in  the  common 
conceptions  of  virtue  as  manifested  in  outward  acts.  I admit 
that  if  subjective  rightness  or  goodness  of  Will  is  affirmed  to  be 
the  Ultimate  Good,  the  affirmation  does  not  exactly  involve  the 
logical  difficulty  that  I have  been  urging.  None  the  less  is  it  fun- 
damentally opposed  to  Common  Sense;  since  the  very  notion  of 
subjective  rightness  or  goodness  of  will  implies  an  objective 
standard,  which  it  directs  us  to  seek,  but  does  not  profess  to 
supply.  It  would  be  a palpable  and  violent  paradox  to  set  before 
the  right-seeking  mind  no  end  except  this  right-seeking  itself, 
and  to  affirm  this  to  be  the  sole  Ultimate  Good,  denying  that  any 
effects  of  right  volition  can  be  in  themselves  good,  except  the  sub- 
jective rightness  of  future  volitions,  whether  of  self  or  of  others. 
It  is  true  that  no  rule  can  be  recognised,  by  any  reasonable  indi- 
vidual, as  more  authoritative  than  the  rule  of  doing  what  he 
judges  to  be  right;  for,  in  deliberating  with  a view  to  my  own 
immediate  action,  I cannot  distinguish  between  doing  w'hat  is 
objectively  right,  and  realising  my  own  subjective  conception  of 
rightness.  But  we  are  continually  forced  to  make  the  distinction 
as  regards  the  actions  of  others  and  to  judge  that  conduct  may  be 


THE  METHODS  OF  ETHICS 


707 


objectively  wrong  though  subjectively  right : and  we  continually 
judge  conduct  to  be  objectively  wrong  because  it  tends  to  cause 
pain  and  loss  of  happiness  to  others,  — apart  from  any  effect  on 
the  subjective  rightness  of  their  volitions.  It  is  as  so  judging  that 
we  commonly  recognise  the  mischief  and  danger  of  fanaticism : 

— meaning  by  a fanatic  a man  who  resolutely  and  unswervingly 
carries  out  his  own  conception  of  rightness,  when  it  is  a plainly 
mistaken  conception. 

The  same  result  may  be  reached  even  without  supposing  so 
palpable  a divorce  between  subjective  and  objective  rightness  of 
volition  as  is  implied  in  the  notion  of  fanaticism.  As  I have  al- 
ready pointed  out,^  though  the  “dictates  of  Reason”  are  always 
to  be  obeyed,  it  does  not  follow  that  “ the  dictation  of  Reason”  — 
the  predominance  of  consciously  moral  over  non-moral  motives 

— is  to  be  promoted  without  limits ; and  indeed  Common  Sense 
appears  to  hold  that  some  things  are  likely  to  be  better  done,  if 
they  are  done  from  other  motives  than  conscious  obedience  to 
practical  Reason  or  Conscience.  It  thus  becomes  a practical 
question  how  far  the  dictation  of  Reason,  the  predominance  of 
moral  choice  and  moral  effort  in  human  life,  is  a result  to  be 
aimed  at:  and  the  admission  of  this  question  implies  that  con- 
scious rightness  of  volition  is  not  the  sole  ultimate  good.  On  the 
whole,  then,  we  may  conclude  that  neither  (i)  subjective  right- 
ness or  goodness  of  volition,  as  distinct  from  objective,  nor  (2) 
virtuous  character,  except  as  manifested  or  realised  in  virtuous 
conduct,  can  be  regarded  as  constituting  Ultimate  Good : while, 
again,  we  are  precluded  from  identifying  Ultimate  Good  with 
virtuous  conduct,  because  our  conceptions  of  virtuous  conduct, 
under  the  different  heads  or  aspects  denoted  by  the  names  of 
the  particular  virtues,  have  been  found  to  presuppose  the  prior 
determination  of  the  notion  of  Good  — that  Good  which  virtu- 
ous conduct  is  conceived  as  producing  or  promoting  or  rightly 
distributing. 

And  what  has  been  said  of  Virtue,  seems  to  me  still  more  mani- 
festly true  of  the  other  talents,  gifts,  and  graces  which  make  up 
the  common  notion  of  human  excellence  or  Perfection.  However 

^ The  Methods  of  Ethics,  chap,  xi.,  § 3;  see  also  chap,  xii.,  § 3. 


HENRY  SIDGWICK 


708 

immediately  the  excellent  quality  of  such  gifts  and  skills  may  be 
recognised  and  admired,  reflection  shows  that  they  are  only 
valuable  on  account  of  the  good  or  desirable  conscious  life  in 
which  they  are  or  will  be  actualised,  or  which  will  be  somehow 
promoted  by  their  exercise. 

§ 3.  Shall  we  then  say  that  Ultimate  Good  is  Good  or  De- 
sirable conscious  or  sentient  Life  — of  which  Virtuous  action  is 
one  element,  but  not  the  sole  constituent  ? This  seems  in  harmony 
with  Common  Sense;  and  the  fact  that  particular  virtues  and 
talents  and  gifts  are  largely  valued  as  means  to  ulterior  good  does 
not  necessarily  prevent  us  from  regarding  their  exercise  as  also  an 
element  of  Ultimate  Good;  just  as  the  fact  that  physical  action, 
nutrition,  and  repose,  duly  proportioned  and  combined,  are 
means  to  the  maintenance  of  our  animal  life,  does  not  prevent  us 
from  regarding  them  as  indispensable  elements  of  such  life.  Still 
it  seems  difficult  to  conceive  any  kind  of  activity  or  process  as  both 
means  and  end,  from  precisely  the  same  point  of  view  and  in  re- 
spect of  precisely  the  same  quality : and  in  both  the  cases  above 
mentioned  it  is,  I think,  easy  to  distinguish  the  aspect  in  which 
the  activities  or  processes  in  question  are  to  be  regarded  as  means 
from  that  in  which  they  are  to  be  regarded  as  in  themselves  good 
or  desirable.  Let  us  examine  this  first  in  the  case  of  the  physical 
processes.  It  is  in  their  purely  physical  aspect,  as  complex  pro- 
cesses of  corporeal  change,  that  they  are  means  to  the  mainte- 
nance of  life ; but  so  long  as  we  confine  our  attention  to  their  cor- 
poreal aspect,  — regarding  them  merely  as  complex  movements 
of  certain  particles  of  organised  matter,  — it  seems  impossible  to 
attribute  to  these  movements,  considered  in  themselves,  either 
goodness  or  badness.  I cannot  conceive  it  to  be  an  ultimate  end 
of  rational  action  to  secure  that  these  complex  movements  should 
be  of  one  kind  rather  than  another,  or  that  they  should  be  con- 
tinued for  a longer  rather  than  a shorter  period.  In  short,  if  a 
certain  quality  of  human  Life  is  that  which  is  ultimately  desira- 
ble, it  must  belong  to  human  Life  regarded  on  its  psychical  side, 
or,  briefly.  Consciousness. 

But  again : it  is  not  all  life  regarded  on  its  psychical  side  which 
we  can  judge  to  be  ultimately  desirable:  since  psychical  life  as 


THE  METHODS  OF  ETHICS 


709 


known  to  us  includes  pain  as  well  as  pleasure,  and  so  far  as  it  is 
painful  it  is  not  desirable.  I cannot  therefore  accept  a view  of  the 
wellbeing  or  welfare  of  human  beings  — as  of  other  living  things 
— which  is  suggested  by  current  zoological  conceptions  and  ap- 
parently maintained  with  more  or  less  definiteness  by  influential 
writers ; according  to  which,  when  we  attribute  goodness  or  bad- 
ness to  the  manner  of  existence  of  any  living  organism,  we  should 
be  understood  to  attribute  to  it  a tendency  either  (i)  to  self-pre- 
servation, or  (2)  to  the  preservation  of  the  community  or  race  to 
which  it  belongs  — so  that  what  “Wellbeing”  adds  to  mere 
“Being”  is  just  promise  of  future  being.  It  appears  to  me  that 
this  doctrine  needs  only  to  be  distinctly  contemplated  in  order  to 
be  rejected.  If  all  life  were  as  little  desirable  as  some  portions  of 
it  have  been,  in  my  own  experience  and  in  that  (I  believe)  of  all 
or  most  men,  I should  judge  all  tendency  to  the  preservation  of  it 
to  be  unmitigatedly  bad.  Actually,  no  doubt,  as  we  generally 
hold  that  human  life,  even  as  now  lived,  has  on  the  average,  a 
balance  of  happiness,  we  regard  what  is  preservative  of  life  as 
generally  good  and  what  is  destructive  of  life  as  bad : and  I quite 
admit  that  a most  fundamentally  important  part  of  the  function 
of  morality  consists  in  maintaining  such  habits  and  sentiments 
as  are  necessary  to  the  continued  existence,  in  full  numbers,  of 
a society  of  human  beings  under  their  actual  conditions  of  life. 
But  this  is  not  because  the  mere  existence  of  human  organisms, 
even  if  prolonged  to  eternity,  appears  to  me  in  any  way  desirable ; 
it  is  only  assumed  to  be  so  because  it  is  supposed  to  be  accom- 
panied by  Consciousness  on  the  whole  desirable;  it  is  therefore 
this  Desirable  Consciousness  which  we  must  regard  as  ultimate 
Good. 

In  the  same  way,  so  far  as  we  judge  virtuous  activity  to  be  a 
part  of  Ultimate  Good,  it  is,  I conceive,  because  the  consciousness 
attending  it  is  judged  to  be  in  itself  desirable  for  the  virtuous 
agent : though  at  the  same  time  this  consideration  does  not  ade- 
quately represent  the  importance  of  Virtue  to  human  wellbeing, 
since  we  have  to  consider  its  value  as  a means  as  well  as  its  value 
as  an  end.  We  may  make  the  distinction  clearer  by  considering 
whether  Virtuous  life  would  remain  on  the  whole  good  for  the 


710 


HENRY  SIDGWICK 


virtuous  agent,  if  we  suppose  it  combined  with  extreme  pain. 
The  affirmative  answer  to  this  question  was  strongly  supported 
in  Greek  philosophical  discussion : but  it  is  a paradox  from  which 
a modern  thinker  would  recoil ; he  would  hardly  venture  to  as- 
sert that  the  portion  of  life  spent  by  a martyr  in  tortures  was  in 
itself  desirable,  — though  it  might  be  his  duty  to  suffer  the  pain 
with  a view  to  the  good  of  others,  and  even  his  interest  to  suffer 
it  with  a view  to  his  own  ultimate  happiness. 

§ 4.  If  then  Ultimate  Good  can  only  be  conceived  as  Desir- 
able Consciousness,  — including  the  Consciousness  of  Virtue  as 
a part  but  only  as  a part,  — are  we  to  identify  this  notion  with 
Happiness  or  Pleasure,  and  say  with  the  Utilitarians  that  General 
Good  is  General  Happiness?  Many  would  at  this  point  of  the 
discussion  regard  this  conclusion  as  inevitable:  to  say  that  all 
other  things  called  good  are  only  means  to  the  end  of  making 
conscious  life  better  or  more  desirable,  seems  to  them  the  same 
as  saying  that  they  are  means  to  the  end  of  happiness.  But  very 
important  distinctions  remain  to  be  considered.  According  to  the 
view  taken  in  a previous  chapter,^  in  affirming  Ultimate  Good  to 
be  Happiness  or  Pleasure,  we  imply  (i)  that  nothing  is  desirable 
except  desirable  feelings,  and  (2)  that  the  desirability  of  each 
feeling  is  only  directly  cognisable  by  the  sentient  individual  at 
the  time  of  feeling  it,  and  that  therefore  this  particular  judgment 
of  the  sentient  individual  must  be  taken  as  finaP  on  the  question 
how  far  each  element  of  feeling  has  the  quality  of  Ultimate  Good. 
Now  no  one,  I conceive,  would  estimate  in  any  other  way  the 
desirability  of  feeling  considered  merely  as  feeling : but  it  may  be 
urged  that  our  conscious  experience  includes  besides  Feelings, 
Cognitions  and  Volitions,  and  that  the  desirability  of  these  must 
be  taken  into  account,  and  is  not  to  be  estimated  by  the  standard 
above  stated.  I think,  however,  that  when  we  reflect  on  a cogni- 
tion as  a transient  fact  of  an  individual’s  psychical  experience,  — 
distinguishing  it  on  the  one  hand  from  the  feeling  that  normally 

* The  Methods  oj  Ethics,  Book  ii.,  chap.  ii. 

^ Final,  that  is,  so  far  as  the  quality  of  the  present  feeling  is  concerned.  I 
have  pointed  out  that  so  far  as  any  estimate  of  the  desirability  or  pleasantness  of 
a feeling  involves  comparison  with  feelings  only  represented  in  idea,  it  is  liable  to 
be  erroneous  through  imperfections  in  the  representation. 


THE  METHODS  OF  ETHICS  711 

accompanies  it,  and  on  the  other  hand  from  that  relation  of  the 
knowing  mind  to  the  object  known  which  is  implied  in  the  term 
“true”  or  “valid  cognition,”  — it  is  seen  to  be  an  element  of 
consciousness  quite  neutral  in  respect  of  desirability:  and  the 
same  may  be  said  of  Volitions,  when  we  abstract  from  their  con- 
comitant feelings,  and  their  relation  to  an  objective  norm  or 
ideal,  as  well  as  from  all  their  consequences.  It  is  no  doubt  true 
that  in  ordinary  thought  certain  states  of  consciousness  — such 
as  Cognition  of  Truth,  Contemplation  of  Beauty,  Volition  to 
realise  Freedom  or  Virtue  — are  sometimes  judged  to  be  prefer- 
able on  other  grounds  than  their  pleasantness:  but  the  general 
explanation  of  this  seems  to  be  (as  was  suggested  in  Book  ii., 
chap,  ii.,  § 2)  that  what  in  such  cases  we  really  prefer  is  not  the 
present  consciousness  itself,  but  either  effects  on  future  conscious- 
ness more  or  less  distinctly  foreseen,  or  else  something  in  the 
objective  relations  of  the  conscious  being,  not  strictly  included  in 
his  present  consciousness. 

The  second  of  these  alternatives  may  perhaps  be  made  clearer 
by  some  illustrations.  A man  may  prefer  the  mental  state  of 
•apprehending  truth  to  the  state  of  half-reliance  on  generally 
accredited  fictions,'  while  recognising  that  the  former  state  may 
be  more  painful  than  the  latter,  and  independently  of  any  effect 
which  he  expects  either  state  to  have  upon  his  subsequent  con- 
sciousness. Here,  on  my  view,  the  real  object  of  preference  is  not 
the  consciousness  of  knowing  truth,  considered  merely  as  con- 
sciousness, — the  element  of  pleasure  or  satisfaction  in  this  being 
more  than  outweighed  by  the  concomitant  pain,  — but  the  rela- 
tion between  the  mind  and  something  else,  which,  as  the  very 
notion  of  “truth”  implies,  is  whatever  it  is  independently  of  our 
cognition  of  it,  and  which  I therefore  call  objective.  This  may 
become  more  clear  if  we  imagine  ourselves  learning  afterwards 
that  what  we  took  for  truth  is  not  really  such : for  in  this  case  we 
should  certainly  feel  that  our  preference  had  been  mistaken; 
whereas  if  our  choice  had  really  been  between  two  elements  of 
transient  consciousness,  its  reasonableness  could  not  be  affected 
by  any  subsequent  discovery. 

^ Cf.  W.  E.  H.  Lecky’s  History  oj  European  Morals,  pp.  52  seqq. 


712 


HENRY  SIDGWICK 


Similarly,  a man  may  prefer  freedom  and  penury  to  a life  of 
luxurious  servitude,  not  because  the  pleasant  consciousness  of 
being  free  outweighs  in  prospect  all  the  comforts  and  securities 
that  the  other  life  would  afford,  but  because  he  has  a predominant 
aversion  to  that  relation  between  his  will  and  the  will  of  another 
which  we  call  slavery : or,  again,  a philosopher  may  choose  what 
he  conceives  as  “inner  freedom”  — the  consistent  self-deter- 
mination of  the  will  — rather  than  the  gratifications  of  appetite ; 
though  recognising  that  the  latter  are  more  desirable,  considered 
merely  as  transient  feelings.  In  either  case,  he  will  be  led  to  re- 
gard his  preference  as  mistaken,  if  he  be  afterwards  persuaded 
that  his  conception  of  Freedom  or  self-determination  was  illu- 
sory; that  we  are  all  slaves  of  circumstances,  destiny,  etc. 

So  again,  the  preference  of  conformity  to  Virtue,  or  contem- 
plation of  Beauty,  to  a state  of  consciousness  recognised  as  more 
pleasant  seems  to  depend  on  a belief  that  one’s  conception  of 
Virtue  or  Beauty  corresponds  to  an  ideal  to  some  extent  objective 
and  valid  for  all  minds.  Apart  from  any  consideration  of  future 
consequences,  we  should  generally  agree  that  a man  who  sacri- 
ficed happiness  to  an  erroneous  conception  of  Virtue  or  Beauty 
made  a mistaken  choice. 

Still,  it  may  be  said  that  this  is  merely  a question  of  definition ; 
that  we  may  take  “ conscious  life  ” in  a wide  sense,  so  as  to  include 
the  objective  relations  of  the  conscious  being  implied  in  our  no- 
tions of  Virtue,  Truth,  Beauty,  Freedom;  and  that  from  this  point 
of  view  we  may  regard  cognition  of  Truth,  contemplation  of 
Beauty,  Free  or  Virtuous  action,  as  in  some  measure  preferable 
alternatives  to  Pleasure  or  Happiness  — even  though  we  admit 
that  Happiness  must  be  included  as  a part  of  Ultimate  Good.  In 
this  case  the  principle  of  Rational  Benevolence,  which  was  stated 
in  the  last  chapter  as  an  indubitable  intuition  of  the  practical 
Reason,  would  not  direct  us  to  the  pursuit  of  universal  happiness 
alone,  but  of  these  “ideal  goods”  as  well,  as  ends  ultimately 
desirable  for  mankind  generally. 

§ 5.  I think,  however,  that  this  view  ought  not  to  commend 
itself  to  the  sober  judgment  of  reflective  persons.  In  order  to 
show  this,  I must  ask  the  reader  to  use  the  same  twofold  pro- 


THE  METHODS  OF  ETHICS 


713 


cedure  that  I before  requested  him  to  employ  in  considering  the 
absolute  and  independent  validity  of  common  moral  precepts.  I 
appeal  firstly  to  his  intuitive  judgment  after  due  consideration  of 
the  question  when  fairly  placed  before  it : and  secondly  to  a com- 
prehensive comparison  of  the  ordinary  judgments  of  mankind. 
As  regards  the  first  argument,  to  me  at  least  it  seems  clear  after 
reflection  that  these  objective  relations  of  the  conscious  subject, 
when  distinguished  from  the  consciousness  accompanying  and 
resulting  from  them,  are  not  ultimately  and  intrinsically  desirable ; 
any  more  than  material  or  other  objects  are,  when  considered 
apart  from  any  relation  to  conscious  existence.  Admitting  that 
we  have  actual  experience  of  such  preferences  as  have  just  been 
described,  of  which  the  ultimate  object  is  something  that  is  not 
merely  consciousness : it  still  seems  to  me  that  when  (to  use  But- 
ler’s phrase)  we  “sit  down  in  a cool  hour,”  we  can  only  justify  to 
ourselves  the  importance  that  we  attach  to  any  of  these  objects 
by  considering  its  conduciveness,  in  one  way  or  another,  to  the 
happiness  of  sentient  beings. 

The  second  argument,  that  refers  to  the  common  sense  of  man- 
kind, obviously  cannot  be  made  completely  cogent;  since,  as 
above  stated,  several  cultivated  persons  do  habitually  judge  that 
knowledge,  art,  etc.  — not  to  speak  of  Virtue  — are  ends  inde- 
pendently of  the  pleasure  derived  from  them.  But  we  may  urge 
not  only  that  all  these  elements  of  “ideal  good”  are  productive 
of  pleasure  in  various  ways ; but  also  that  they  seem  to  obtain  the 
commendation  of  Common  Sense,  roughly  speaking,  in  propor- 
tion to  the  degree  of  this  productiveness.  This  seems  obviously 
true  of  Beauty ; and  will  hardly  be  denied  in  respect  of  any  kind 
of  social  ideal : it  is  paradoxical  to  maintain  that  any  degree  of 
Freedom,  or  any  form  of  social  order,  would  still  be  commonly 
regarded  as  desirable  even  if  we  were  certain  that  it  had  no  tend- 
ency to  promote  the  general  happiness.  The  case  of  Knowledge 
is  rather  more  complex;  but  certainly  Common  Sense  is  most  im- 
pressed with  the  value  of  knowledge,  when  its  “ fruitfulness”  has 
been  demonstrated.  It  is,  however,  aware  that  experience  has 
frequently  shown  how  knowledge,  long  fruitless,  may  become 
unexpectedly  fruitful,  and  how  light  may  be  shed  on  one  part  of 


HENRY  SIDGWICK 


714 

the  field  of  knowledge  from  another  apparently  remote : and  even 
if  any  particular  branch  of  scientific  pursuit  could  be  shown  to 
be  devoid  of  even  this  indirect  utility,  it  would  still  deserve  some 
respect  on  utilitarian  grounds,  both  as  furnishing  to  the  inquirer 
the  refined  and  innocent  pleasures  of  curiosity,  and  because  the 
intellectual  disposition  which  it  exhibits  and  sustains  is  likely  on 
the  whole  to  produce  fruitful  knowledge.  Still  in  cases  approxi- 
mating to  this  last.  Common  Sense  is  somewhat  disposed  to  com- 
plain of  the  misdirection  of  valuable  effort ; so  that  the  meed  of 
honour  commonly  paid  to  Science  seems  to  be  graduated,  though 
perhaps  unconsciously,  by  a tolerably  exact  utilitarian  scale.  Cer- 
tainly the  moment  the  legitimacy  of  any  branch  of  scientific  in- 
quiry is  seriously  disputed,  as  in  the  recent  case  of  vivisection,  the 
controversy  on  both  sides  is  generally  conducted  on  an  avowedly 
utilitarian  basis. 

The  case  of  Virtue  requires  special  consideration:  since  the 
encouragement  in  each  other  of  virtuous  impulses  and  disposi- 
tions is  a main  aim  of  men’s  ordinary  moral  discourse;  so  that 
even  to  raise  the  question  whether  this  encouragement  can  go 
too  far  has  a paradoxical  air.  Still,  our  experience  includes  rare 
and  exceptional  cases  in  which  the  concentration  of  effort  on  the 
cultivation  of  virtue  has  seemed  to  have  effects  adverse  to  general 
happiness,  through  being  intensified  to  the  point  of  moral  fanat- 
icism, and  so  involving  a neglect  of  other  conditions  of  happiness. 
If,  then,  we  admit  as  actual  or  possible  such  “infelicific”  effects 
of  the  cultivation  of  Virtue,  I think  we  shall  also  generally  admit 
that,  in  the  case  supposed,  conduciveness  to  general  happiness 
should  be  the  criterion  for  deciding  how  far  the  cultivation  of 
Virtue  should  be  carried. 

At  the  same  time  it  must  be  allowed  that  we  find  in  Common 
Sense  an  aversion  to  admit  Happiness  (when  explained  to  mean 
a sum  of  pleasures)  to  be  the  sole  ultimate  end  and  standard  of 
right  conduct.  But  this,  I think,  can  be  fully  accounted  for  by 
the  following  considerations. 

I.  The  term  Pleasure  is  not  commonly  used  so  as  to  include 
clearly  all  kinds  of  consciousness  which  we  desire  to  retain  or 
reproduce:  in  ordinary  usage  it  suggests  too  prominently  the 


THE  METHODS  OF  ETHICS 


715 


coarser  and  commoner  kinds  of  such  feelings ; and  it  is  difficult 
even  for  those  who  are  trying  to  use  it  scientifically  to  free  their 
minds  altogether  from  the  associations  of  ordinary  usage,  and  to 
mean  by  Pleasure  only  Desirable  Consciousness  or  Feeling  of 
whatever  kind.  Again,  our  knowledge  of  human  life  continually 
suggests  to  us  instances  of  pleasures  which  will  inevitably  involve 
as  concomitant  or  consequent  either  a greater  amount  of  pain,  or  a 
loss  of  more  important  pleasures : and  we  naturally  shrink  from 
including  even  hypothetically  in  our  conception  of  ultimate  good 
these  — in  Bentham’s  phrase  — “impure”  pleasures;  especially 
since  we  have,  in  many  cases,  moral  or  esthetic  instincts  warning 
us  against  such  pleasures. 

II.  We  have  seen  ^ that  many  important  pleasures  can  only  be 
felt  on  condition  of  our  experiencing  desires  for  other  things  than 
pleasure.  Thus  the  very  acceptance  of  Pleasure  as  the  ultimate 
end  of  conduct  involves  the  practical  rule  that  it  is  not  always  to 
be  made  the  conscious  end.  Hence,  even  if  we  are  considering 
merely  the  good  of  one  human  being  taken  alone,  excluding  from 
our  view  all  effects  of  his  conduct  on  others,  still  the  reluctance  of 
Common  Sense  to  regard  pleasure  as  the  sole  thing  ultimately 
desirable  may  be  justified  by  the  consideration  that  human  beings 
tend  to  be  less  happy  if  they  are  exclusively  occupied  with  the 
desire  of  personal  happiness.  E.  g.  (as  was  before  shown)  we  shall 
miss  the  valuable  pleasures  which  attend  the  exercise  of  the  be- 
nevolent affections  if  we  do  not  experience  genuinely  disinterested 
impulses  to  procure  happiness  for  others  (which  are,  in  fact, 
implied  in  the  notion  of  “benevolent  affections”). 

III.  But  again,  I hold,  as  was  expounded  in  the  preceding 
chapter,  that  disinterested  benevolence  is  not  only  thus  generally 
in  harmony  with  rational  Self-love,  but  also  in  another  sense  and 
independently  rational : that  is.  Reason  shows  me  that  if  my  hap- 
piness is  desirable  and  a good,  the  equal  happiness  of  any  other 
person  must  be  equally  desirable.  Now,  when  Happiness  is 
spoken  of  as  the  sole  ultimate  good  of  man,  the  idea  most  com- 
monly suggested  is  that  eaqh  individual  is  to  seek  his  own  happi- 
ness at  the  expense  (if  necessary)  or,  at  any  rate,  to  the  neglect  of 

‘ The  Methods  of  Ethics,  Book  i.,  chap.  iv. ; cf.  Book  ii.,  chap.  Hi. 


HENRY  SIDGWICK 


716 

that  of  others:  and  this  offends  both  our  sympathetic  and  our 
rational  regard  for  others’  happiness.  It  is,  in  fact,  rather  the  end 
of  Egoistic  than  of  Universalistic  Hedonism,  to  which  Common 
Sense  feels  an  aversion.  And  certainly  one’s  individual  happiness 
is,  in  many  respects,  an  unsatisfactory  mark  for  one’s  supreme 
aim,  apart  from  any  direct  collision  into  which  the  exclusive  pur- 
suit of  it  may  bring  us  with  rational  or  sympathetic  Benevo- 
lence. It  does  not  possess  the  characteristics  which,  as  Aristotle 
says,  we  “divine”  to  belong  to  Ultimate  Good:  being  (so  far, 
at  least,  as  it  can  be  empirically  foreseen)  so  narrow  and  limited, 
of  such  necessarily  brief  duration,  and  so  shifting  and  insecure 
while  it  lasts.  But  Universal  Happiness,  desirable  consciousness 
or  feeling  for  the  innumerable  multitude  of  sentient  beings,  pre- 
sent and  to  come,  seems  an  End  that  satisfies  our  imagination 
by  its  vastness,  and  sustains  our  resolution  by  its  comparative 
security. 

It  may,  however,  be  said  that  if  we  require  the  individual  to 
sacrifice  his  own  happiness  to  the  greater  happiness  of  others  on 
the  ground  that  it  is  reasonable  to  do  so,  we  really  assign  to  the 
individual  a different  ultimate  end  from  that  which  we  lay  down 
as  the  ultimate  Good  of  the  universe  of  sentient  beings : since  we 
direct  him  to  take,  as  ultimate.  Happiness  for  the  Universe,  but 
Conformity  to  Reason  for  himself.  I admit  the  substantial  truth 
of  this  statement,  though  I should  avoid  the  language  as  tending 
to  obscure  the  distinction  before  explained  between  “obeying  the 
dictates”  and  “ prompting  the  dictation”  of  reason.  But  granting 
the  alleged  difference,  I do  not  see  that  it  constitutes  an  argument 
against  the  view  here  maintained,  since  the  individual  is  essen- 
tially and  fundamentally  different  from  the  larger  whole  — the 
universe  of  sentient  beings  — of  which  he  is  conscious  of  being  a 
part;  just  because  he  has  a known  relation  to  similar  parts  of  the 
same  whole,  while  the  whole  itself  has  no  such  relation.  I accord- 
ingly see  no  inconsistency  in  holding  that  while  it  would  be  rea- 
sonable for  the  aggregate  of  sentient  beings,  if  it  could  act  col- 
lectively, to  aim  at  its  own  happiness  pnly  as  an  ultimate  end,  — 
and  would  be  reasonable  for  any  individual  to  do  the  same,  if  he 
were  the  only  sentient  being  in  the  universe,  — it  may  yet  be 


THE  METHODS  OF  ETHICS 


717 

actually  reasonable  for  an  individual  to  sacrifice  his  own  Good 
or  happiness  for  the  greater  happiness  of  othersd 

At  the  same  time  I admit  that,  in  the  earlier  age  of  ethical 
thought  which  Greek  philosophy  represents,  men  sometimes 
judged  an  act  to  be  “good” /or  the  agent,  even  while  recognising 
that  its  consequences  would  be  on  the  whole  painful  to  him,  — as 
{e.  g.)  a heroic  exchange  of  a life  full  of  happiness  for  a painful 
death  at  the  call  of  duty.  I attribute  this  partly  to  a confusion  of 
thought  between  what  it  is  reasonable  for  an  individual  to  desire, 
when  he  considers  his  own  existence  alone,  and  what  he  must 
recognise  as  reasonably  to  be  desired,  when  he  takes  the  point  of 
view  of  a larger  whole : partly,  again,  to  a faith  deeply  rooted  in 
the  moral  consciousness  of  mankind,  that  there  cannot  be  really 
and  ultimately  any  conflict  between  the  two  kinds  of  reasonable- 
ness.^ But  when  “Reasonable  Self-love”  has  been  clearly  dis- 
tinguished from  Conscience,  as  it  is  by  Butler  and  his  followers, 
we  find  it  is  naturally  understood  to  mean  desire  for  one’s  own 
Happiness : so  that  in  fact  the  interpretation  of  “ one’s  own  good,” 
which  was  almost  peculiar  in  ancient  thought  to  the  Cyrenaic 
and  Epicurean  heresies,  is  adopted  by  some  of  the  most  orthodox 
of  modern  moralists.  Indeed  it  often  does  not  seem  to  have  oc- 
curred to  these  latter  that  this  notion  can  have  any  other  inter- 
pretation.^ If,  then,  when  any  one  hypothetically  concentrates 
his  attention  on  himself.  Good  is  naturally  and  almost  inevitably 
conceived  to  be  Pleasure,  we  may  reasonably  conclude  that  the 
Good  of  any  number  of  similar  beings,  whatever  their  mutual 
relations  may  be,  cannot  be  essentially  different  in  quality. 

IV.  But  lastly,  from  the  universal  point  of  view  no  less  than 
from  that  of  the  individual,  it  seems  true  that  Happiness  is  likely 

' I ought  at  the  same  time  to  say  that  I hold  it  no  less  reasonable  for  an  in- 
dividual to  take  his  own  happiness  as  his  ultimate  end.  This  “Dualism  of  the 
Practical  Reason  ” will  be  further  discussed  in  the  concluding  chapter  of  the 
treatise. 

^ We  may  illustrate  this  double  explanation  by  a reference  to  some  of  Plato’s 
Dialogues,  such  as  the  Gorgias,  where  the  ethical  argument  has  a singularly  mi-xed 
effect  on  the  mind.  Partly,  it  seems  to  us  more  or  less  dexterous  sophistry,  playing 
on  a confusion  of  thought  latent  in  the  common  notion  of  good : partly,  a noble 
and  stirring  expression  of  a profound  moral  faith. 

* Cf.  D.  Stewart’s  Philosophy  oj  the  Active  and  Moral  Powers,  Book  ii.,  chap.  i. 


HENRY  SIDGWICK 


718 

to  be  better  attained  if  the  extent  to  which  we  set  ourselves  con- 
sciously to  aim  at  it  be  carefully  restricted.  And  this  not  only 
because  action  is  likely  to  be  more  effective  if  our  effort  is  tem- 
porarily concentrated  on  the  realisation  of  more  limited  ends  — 
though  this  is  no  doubt  an  important  reason : — but  also  because 
the  fullest  development  of  happy  life  for  each  individual  seems 
to  require  that  he  should  have  other  external  objects  of  interest 
besides  the  happiness  of  other  conscious  beings.  And  thus  we 
may  conclude  that  the  pursuit  of  the  ideal  objects  before  men- 
tioned, Virtue,  Truth,  Freedom,  Beauty,  etc., /or  their  own  sakes, 
is  indirectly  and  secondarily,  though  not  primarily  and  absolutely, 
rational;  on  account  not  only  of  the  happiness  that  will  result 
from  their  attainment,  but  also  of  that  which  springs  from  their 
disinterested  pursuit.  While  yet  if  we  ask  for  a final  criterion  of 
the  comparative  value  of  the  different  objects  of  men’s  enthusias- 
tic pursuit,  and  of  the  limits  within  which  each  may  legitimately 
engross  the  attention  of  mankind,  we  shall  none  the  less  conceive 
it  to  depend  upon  the  degree  in  which  they  respectively  conduce 
to  Happiness. 

If,  however,  this  view  be  rejected,  it  remains  to  consider  whether 
we  can  frame  any  other  coherent  account  of  Ultimate  Good.  If 
we  are  not  to  systematise  human  activities  by  taking  Universal 
Happiness  as  their  common  end,  on  what  other  principles  are  we 
to  systematise  them  ? It  should  be  observed  that  these  principles 
must  not  only  enable  us  to  compare  among  themselves  the  values 
of  the  different  non-Hedonistic  ends  which  we  have  been  consid- 
ering, but  must  also  provide  a common  standard  for  comparing 
these  values  with  that  of  Happiness;  unless  we  are  prepared  to 
adopt  the  paradoxical  position  of  rejecting  happiness  as  abso- 
lutely valueless.  For  we  have  a practical  need  of  determining  not 
only  whether  we  should  pursue  Truth  rather  than  Beauty,  or 
Freedom  or  some  ideal  constitution  of  society  rather  than  either, 
or  perhaps  desert  all  of  these  for  the  life  of  worship  and  religious 
contemplation;  but  also  how  far  we  should  follow  any  of  these 
lines  of  endeavour,  when  we  foresee  among  its  consequences  the 
pains  of  human  or  other  sentient  beings,  or  even  the  loss  of 
pleasures  that  might  otherwise  have  been  enjoyed  by  them. 


THE  METHODS  OF  ETHICS 


719 


I have  failed  to  find  — and  am  unable  to  construct  — any 
systematic  answer  to  this  question  that  appears  to  me  deserving 
of  serious  consideration ; and  hence  I am  finally  led  to  the  con- 
clusion (which  at  the  close  of  the  last  chapter  seemed  to  be  pre- 
mature) that  the  Intuitional  method  rigorously  applied  yields  as 
its  final  result  the  doctrine  of  pure  Universalistic  Hedonism/ 
— which  it  is  convenient  to  denote  by  the  single  word,  Utilita- 
rianism. 

* I have  before  noticed  (Book  ii.,  chap,  iii.,  p.  134)  the  metaphysical  objection 
taken  by  certain  writers  to  the  view  that  Happiness  is  Ultimate  Good;  on  the 
ground  that  Happiness  (=  sum  of  pleasures)  can  only  be  realised  in  successive 
parts,  whereas  a “Chief  Good”  must  be  “something  of  which  some  being  can  be 
conceived  in  possession”  — something,  that  is,  which  he  can  have  all  at  once. 
On  considering  this  objection  it  seemed  to  me  that,  in  so  far  as  it  is  even  plausible, 
its  plausibility  depends  on  the  exact  form  of  the  notion  “a  Chief  Good”  (or 
“Summum  Bonum”),  which  is  perhaps  inappropriate  as  applied  to  Happiness. 
I have  therefore  in  this  chapter  used  the  notion  of  “Ultimate  Good”  : as  1 can  see 
no  shadow  of  reason  for  affirming  that  that  which  is  Good  or  Desirable  per  se, 
and  not  as  a means  to  some  further  end,  must  necessarily  be  capable  of  being 
possessed  all  at  once.  I can  understand  that  a man  may  aspire  after  a Good  of 
this  latter  kind ; but  so  long  as  Time  is  a necessary  form  of  human  e.xistence,  it 
can  hardly  be  surprising  that  human  good  should  be  subject  to  the  condition  of 
being  realised  in  successive  parts. 


FRANCIS  HERBERT  BRADLEY 

( 1846 ) 

ETHICAL  STUDIES* 

ESSAY  II.  WHY  SHOULD  I BE  MORAL? 

Why  should  I be  moral  ? ‘ The  question  is  natural,  and  yet  seems 
strange.  It  appears  to  be  one  we  ought  to  ask,  and  yet  we  feel, 
when  we  ask  it,  that  we  are  wholly  removed  from  the  moral 
point  of  view. 

To  ask  the  question  Why?  is  rational;  for  reason  teaches  us  to 
do  nothing  blindly,  nothing  without  end  or  aim.  She  teaches  us 
that  what  is  good  must  be  good  for  something,  and  that  what  is 
good  for  nothing  is  not  good  at  all.  And  so  we  take  it  as  certain 
that  there  is  an  end  on  one  side,  means  on  the  other ; and  that 
only  if  the  end  is  good,  and  the  means  conduce  to  it,  have  we 
a right  to  say  the  means  are  good.  It  is  rational,  then,  always  to 
inquire.  Why  should  I do  it? 

But  here  the  question  seems  strange.  For  morality  (and  she 
too  is  reason)  teaches  us  that,  if  we  look  on  her  only  as  good  for 
something  else,  we  never  in  that  case  have  seen  her  at  all.  She 
says  that  she  is  an  end  to  be  desired  for  her  own  sake,  and  not  as 
a means  to  something  beyond.  Degrade  her,  and  she  disappears ; 
and  to  keep  her,  we  must  love  and  not  merely  use  her.  And  so 
at  the  question  Why  ? we  are  in  trouble,  for  that  does  assume,  and 
does  take  for  granted,  that  virtue  in  this  sense  is  unreal,  and  what 
we  believe  is  false.  Both  virtue  and  the  asking  Why?  seem 

* 1st  ed.,  London,  Henry  S.  King  & Co.,  1876. 

‘ Let  me  observe  here  that  the  word  “moral”  has  three  meanings,  which  must 
be  throughout  these  pages  distinguished  by  the  context,  (i.)  Moral  is  opposed 
to  H£»ra-moral.  The  moral  world,  or  world  of  morality,  is  opposed  to  the  natural 
world,  where  morality  cannot  exist.  (2.)  Within  the  moral  world  of  moral  agents 
“moral”  is  opposed  to  fwmoral.  (3.)  Again,  within  the  moral  world,  and  the 
moral  part  of  the  moral  world,  “moral”  is  further  restricted  to  the  personal  side 
of  the  moral  life  and  the  moral  institutions.  It  stands  for  the  inrter  relation  of  this 
or  that  will  to  the  universal,  not  to  the  whole,  outer  and  inner,  realization  of 
morality. 


ETHICAL  STUDIES 


721 


rational,  and  yet  incompatible  one  with  the  other ; and  the  better 
course  will  be,  not  forthwith  to  reject  virtue  in  favour  of  the  ques- 
tion, but  rather  to  inquire  concerning  the  nature  of  the  Why  ? 

Why  should  I be  virtuous?  Why  should  I?  Could  anything 
be  more  modest  ? Could  anything  be  less  assuming  ? It  is  not 
a dogma;  it  is  only  a question.  And  yet  a question  may  contain 
(perhaps  must  contain)  an  assumption  more  or  less  hidden ; or,  in 
other  words,  a dogma.  Let  us  see  what  is  assumed  in  the  asking 
of  our  question. 

In  “Why  should  I be  moral?”  the  “Why  should  I?”  was  an- 
other way  of  saying.  What  good  is  virtue  ? or  rather,  For  what  is  it 
good  ? and  we  saw  that  in  asking,  Is  virtue  good  as  a means,  and 
how  so  ? we  do  assume  that  virtue  is  not  good,  except  as  a means. 
The  dogma  at  the  root  of  the  question  is  hence  clearly  either  (i) 
the  general  statement  that  only  means  are  good ; or  (2)  the  partic- 
ular assertion  of  this  in  the  case  of  virtue. 

To  explain;  the  question  For  what?  Whereto?  is  either  uni- 
versally applicable,  or  not  so.  It  holds  ever3rwhere,  or  we  mean 
it  to  hold  only  here.  Let  us  suppose,  in  the  first  place,  that  it  is 
meant  to  hold  ever3rvvhere. 

Then  (i)  we  are  taking  for  granted  that  nothing  is  good  in 
itself;  that  only  the  means  to  something  else  are  good;  that 
“good,”  in  a word,  = “ good  for,”  and  good  for  something  else. 
Such  is  the  general  canon  by  which  virtue  would  have  to  be 
measured. 

No  one  perhaps  would  explicitly  put  forward  such  a canon, 
and  yet  it  may  not  be  waste  of  time  to  examine  it. 

The  good  is  a means : a means  is  a means  to  something  else, 
and  this  is  an  end.  Is  the  end  good  ? No ; if  we  hold  to  our  gen- 
eral canon,  it  is  not  good  as  an  end : the  good  was  always  good 
for  something  else,  and  was  a means.  To  be  good,  the  end  must 
be  a means,  and  so  on  forever  in  a process  which  has  no  limit. 
If  we  ask  now  What  is  good  ? we  must  answer.  There  is  nothing 
which  is  not  good,  for  there  is  nothing  which  may  not  be  regarded 
as  conducing  to  something  outside  itself.  Everything  is  relative 
to  something  else.  And  the  essence  of  the  good  is  to  exist  by 
virtue  of  something  else  and  something  else  forever.  Everything 


722 


FRANCIS  HERBERT  BRADLEY 


is  something  else,  is  the  result  which  at  last  we  are  brought  to, 
if  we  insist  on  pressing  our  canon  as  universally  applicable. 

But  the  above  is  not  needed,  perhaps ; for  those  who  introduced 
the  question  Why  ? did  not  think  of  things  in  general.  The  good 
for  them  was  not  an  infinite  process  of  idle  distinction.  Their 
interest  is  practical,  and  they  do  and  must  understand  by  the 
good  (which  they  call  a means)  some  means  to  an  end  in  itself ; 
which  latter  they  assume,  and  unconsciously  fix  in  whatever  is 
agreeable  to  themselves.  If  we  said  to  them,  for  example,  “ Virtue 
is  a means,  and  so  is  everything  besides,  and  a means  to  every- 
thing else  besides.  Virtue  is  a means  to  pleasure,  pain,  health, 
disease,  wealth,  poverty,  and  is  a good,  because  a means;  and 
so  also  with  pain,  poverty,  etc.  They  are  all  good,  because  all 
means.  Is  this  what  you  mean  by  the  question  Why?”  they 
would  answer  No.  And  they  would  answer  No,  because  some- 
thing has  been  taken  as  an  end,  and  therefore  good;  and  has 
been  assumed  dogmatically. 

The  universal  application  of  the  question  For  what  ? or 
Whereto  ? is,  we  see,  repudiated.  The  question  does  not  hold  good 
everywhere,  and  we  must  now  consider,  secondly,  its  particular 
application  to  virtue. 

(2)  Something  is  here  assumed  to  be  the  end;  and  further, 
this  is  assumed  not  to  be  virtue ; and  thus  the  question  is  founded, 
“Is  virtue  a means  to  a given  end,  which  end  is  the  good?  Is 
virtue  good  ? and  why  ? i.  e.  as  conducing  to  what  good,  is  it 
good  ?”  The  dogma,  A or  B or  C is  a good  in  itself,  justifies  the 
inquiry.  Is  D a means  to  A,  B,  or  C ? And  it  is  the  dogmatic  char- 
acter of  the  question  that  we  wished  to  point  out.  Its  rationality, 
put  as  if  universal,  is  tacitly  assumed  to  end  with  a certain  pro- 
vince; and  our  answer  must  be  this : //your  formula  will  not  (on 
your  own  admission)  apply  to  everything,  what  ground  have  you 
for  supposing  it  to  apply  to  virtue?  “Be  virtuous  that  you  may 
be  happy  {i.  e.  pleased)  ” ; then  why  be  happy,  and  not  rather 
virtuous?  “The  pleasure  of  all  is  an  end.”  Why  all?  “Mine.” 
Why  mine  ? Your  reply  must  be,  that  you  take  it  to  be  so,  and  are 
prepared  to  argue  on  the  thesis  that  something  not  virtue  is  the 
end  in  itself.  And  so  are  we;  and  we  shall  try  to  show  that  this  is 


ETHICAL  STUDIES 


723 


erroneous.  But  even  if  we  fail  in  that,  we  have,  I hope,  made  it 
clear  that  the  question  Why  should  I be  moral?  rests  on  the 
assertion  of  an  end  in  itself,  which  is  not  morality ; and  a point 
of  this  importance  must  not  be  taken  for  granted. 

It  is  quite  true  that  to  ask  Why  should  I be  moral  ? is  ipso  facto 
to  take  one  view  of  morality,  is  to  assume  that  virtue  is  a means 
to  something  not  itself.  But  it  is  a mistake  to  suppose  that  the 
general  asking  of  Why  ? affords  any  presumption  in  favour  of,  or 
against,  any  one  theory.  If  any  theory  could  stand  upon  the  What 
for  ? as  a rational  formula,  which  must  always  hold  good  and  be 
satisfied;  then,  to  that  extent,  no  doubt  it  would  have  an  advan- 
tage. But  we  have  seen  that  all  doctrines  alike  must  reject  the 
What  for?  and  agree  in  this  rejection,  if  they  agree  in  nothing 
else ; since  they  all  must  have  an  end  which  is  not  a mere  means. 
And  if  so,  is  it  not  foolish  to  suppose  that  its  giving  a reason  for 
virtue  is  any  argument  in  favour  of  Hedonism,  when  for  its  own 
end  it  can  give  no  reason  at  all  ? Is  it  not  clear  that,  if  you  have 
any  Ethics,  you  must  have  an  end  which  is  above  the  Why?  in 
the  sense  of  What  for  ? and  that,  if  this  is  so,  the  question  is  now, 
as  it  was  two  thousand  years  ago.  Granted  that  there  is  an  end, 
what  is  this  end?  And  the  asking  that  question,  as  reason  and 
history  both  tell  us,  is  not  in  itself  the  presupposing  of  a Hedon- 
istic answer,  or  any  other  answer. 

The  claim  of  pleasure  to  be  the  end,  we  are  to  discuss  in  an- 
other paper.  But  what  is  clear  at  first  sight  is,  that  to  take  virtue 
as  a mere  means  to  an  ulterior  end  is  in  direct  antagonism  to  the 
voice  of  the  moral  consciousness. 

That  consciousness,  when  unwarped  by  selfishness  and  not 
blinded  by  sophistry,  is  convinced  that  to  ask  for  the  Why?  is 
simple  immorality ; to  do  good  for  its  own  sake  is  virtue,  to  do  it 
for  some  ulterior  end  or  object,  not  itself  good,  is  never  virtue; 
and  never  to  act  but  for  the  sake  of  an  end,  other  than  doing  well 
and  right,  is  the  mark  of  vice.  And  the  theory  which  sees  in 
virtue,  as  in  money-getting,  a means  which  is  mistaken  for  an  end, 
contradicts  the  voice  which  proclaims  that  virtue  not  only  does 
seem  to  be,  but  is,  an  end  in  itself. 

Taking  our  stand  then,  as  we  hope,  on  this  common  conscious- 


724 


FRANCIS  HERBERT  BRADLEY 


ness,  what  answer  can  we  give  when  the  question,  Why  should  I 
be  moral  ? in  the  sense  of,  What  will  it  advantage  me  ? is  put  to 
us?  Here  we  shall  do  well,  I think,  to  avoid  all  praises  of  the 
pleasantness  of  virtue.  We  may  believe  that  it  transcends  all 
possible  delights  of  vice,  but  it  would  be  well  to  remember  that 
we  desert  a moral  point  of  view,  that  we  degrade  and  prostitute 
virtue,  when  to  those  who  do  not  love  her  for  herself  we  bring 
ourselves  to  recommend  her  for  the  sake  of  her  pleasures.  Against 
the  base  mechanical  /Savavcrta,  which  meets  us  on  all  sides,  with 
its  “ what  is  the  use”  of  goodness,  or  beauty,  or  truth  ? there  is  but 
one  fitting  answer  from  the  friends  of  science,  or  art,  or  religion 
and  virtue,  “ We  do  not  know,  and  we  do  not  care.” 

As  a direct  answer  to  the  question  we  should  not  say  more: 
but,  putting  ourselves  at  our  questioner’s  point  of  view,  we  may 
ask  in  return.  Why  should  I be  immoral?  Is  it  not  disadvan- 
tageous to  be  so?  We  can  ask,  Is  your  view  consistent?  Does 
it  satisfy  you,  and  give  you  what  you  want?  And  if  you  are  sat- 
isfied, and  so  far  as  you  are  satisfied,  do  see  whether  it  is  not  be- 
cause, and  so  far  as,  you  are  false  to  your  theory;  so  far  as  you 
are  living  not  directly  with  a view  to  the  pleasant,  but  with  a 
view  to  something  else,  or  with  no  view  at  all,  but,  as  you  would 
call  it,  without  any  “ reason.”  We  believe  that,  in  your  heart,  your 
end  is  what  ours  is,  but  that  about  this  end  you  not  only  are  sorely 
mistaken,  but  in  your  heart  you  feel  and  know  it;  or  at  least  w'ould 
do  so,  if  you  w'ould  only  reflect.  And  more  than  this  I think  we 
ought  not  to  say. 

What  more  are  we  to  say  ? If  a man  asserts  total  scepticism, 
you  cannot  argue  with  him.  You  can  show  that  he  contradicts 
himself ; but  if  he  says,  “ I do  not  care  ” — there  is  an  end  of  it.  So, 
too,  if  a man  says,  “ I shall  do  what  I like,  because  I happen  to 
like  it;  and  as  for  ends,  I recognize  none”  — you  may  indeed 
show  him  that  his  conduct  is  in  fact  otherwise;  and  if  he  will 
assert  anything  as  an  end,  if  he  will  but  say,  “ I have  no  end  but 
myself,”  then  you  may  argue  with  him,  and  try  to  prove  that  he 
is  making  a mistake  as  to  the  nature  of  the  end  he  alleges.  But  if 
he  says,  “ I care  not  whether  I am  moral  or  rational,  nor  how  much 
I contradict  myself,”  then  argument  ceases.  We,  who  have  the 


ETHICAL  STUDIES 


725 


power,  believe  that  what  is  rational  (if  it  is  not  yet)  at  least  is  to  be 
real,  and  decline  to  recognize  anything  else.  For  standing  on  rea- 
son we  can  give,  of  course,  no  further  reason,  but  we  push  our 
reason  against  what  seems  to  oppose  it,  and  soon  force  all  to  see 
that  moral  obligations  do  not  vanish,  where  they  cease  to  be  felt, 
or  are  denied. 

Has  the  question,  Why  should  I be  moral?  no  sense  then,  and 
is  no  positive  answer  possible  ? No,  the  question  has  no  sense  at 
all ; it  is  simply  unmeaning,  unless  it  is  equivalent  to.  Is  morality 
an  end  in  itself;  and,  if  so,  how  and  in  what  way  is  it  an  end  ? Is 
morality  the  same  as  the  end  for  man,  so  that  the  two  are  convert- 
ible ; or  is  morality  one  side,  or  aspect,  or  element  of  some  end 
which  is  larger  than  itself  ? Is  it  the  whole  end  from  all  points  of 
view,  or  is  it  one  view  of  the  whole  ? Is  the  artist  moral,  so  far  as 
he  is  a good  artist,  or  the  philosopher  moral,  so  far  as  he  is  a good 
philosopher  ? Are  their  art  or  science,  and  their  virtue,  one  thing 
from  one  and  the  same  point  of  view,  or  two  different  things,  or 
one  thing  from  two  points  of  view? 

These  are  not  easy  questions  to  answer,  and  we  cannot  discuss 
them  yet.  We  have  taken  the  reader  now  so  far  as  he  need  go 
before  proceeding  to  the  following  essays.  What  remains  is  to 
point  out  the  most  general  expression  for  the  end  in  itself,  the 
ultimate  practical  “why”;  and  that  we  find  in  the  word  self- 
realization.  But  what  follows  is  an  anticipation  of  the  sequel, 
which  we  cannot  promise  to  make  intelligible  as  yet;  and  the 
reader  who  finds  difficulties  had  better  go  at  once  to  Essay  III.‘ 

How  can  it  be  proved  that  self-realization  is  the  end?  There 
is  only  one  way  to  do  that.  This  is  to  know  what  we  mean,  when 
we  say  “self,”  and  “real,”  and  “realize,”  and  “end”;  and  to 
know  that  is  to  have  something  like  a system  of  metaphysic,  and 
to  say  it  would  be  to  exhibit  that  system.  Instead  of  remarking, 
then,  that  w'e  lack  space  to  develop  our  views,  let  us  frankly 
confess  that,  properly  speaking,  we  have  no  such  views  to  de- 
velop, and  therefore  we  cannot  prove  our  thesis.  All  that  we 
can  do  is  partially  to  explain  it,  and  try  to  render  it  plausible. 
It  is  a formula,  which  our  succeeding  Essays  will  in  some  way 

* Bradley’s  Ethical  Studies,  III. 


726  FRANCIS  HERBERT  BRADLEY 

fill  up,  and  which  here  we  shall  attempt  to  recommend  to  the 
reader  beforehand. 

An  objection  will  occur  at  once.  “There  surely  are  ends,”  it 
will  be  said,  “ which  are  not  myself,  which  fall  outside  my  activity, 
and  which, nevertheless,  I do  realize,  and  think  I ought  to  realize.” 
We  must  try  to  show  that  the  objection  rests  upon  a misunder- 
standing; and,  as  a statement  of  fact,  brings  with  it  insuperable 
difficulties. 

Let  us  first  go  to  the  moral  consciousness,  and  see  what  that 
tells  us  about  its  end. 

Morality  implies  an  end  in  itself:  we  take  that  for  granted. 
Something  is  to  be  done,  a good  is  to  be  realized.  But  that  result 
is,  by  itself,  not  morality:  morality  differs  from  art,  in  that  it 
cannot  make  the  act  a mere  means  to  the  result.  Yet  there  is  a 
means.  There  is  not  only  something  to  be  done,  but  something 
to  be  done  by  me  — I must  do  the  act,  must  realize  the  end. 
Morality  implies  both  the  something  to  be  done,  and  the  doing  of 
it  by  me;  and  if  you  consider  them  as  end  and  means,  you  cannot 
separate  the  end  and  the  means.  If  you  chose  to  change  the 
position  of  end  and  means,  and  say  my  doing  is  the  end,  and  the 
“ to  be  done  ” is  the  means,  you  would  not  violate  the  moral  con- 
sciousness ; for  the  truth  is  that  means  and  end  are  not  applicable 
here.  The  act  for  me  means  my  act,  and  there  is  no  end  beyond 
the  act.  This  we  see  in  the  belief  that  failure  may  be  equivalent 
morally  to  success  — in  the  saying,  that  there  is  nothing  good  ex- 
cept a good  will.  In  short,  for  morality  the  end  implies  the  act, 
and  the  act  implies  self-realization.  This,  if  it  were  doubtful, 
would  be  shown  (we  may  remark  in  passing)  by  the  feeling  of  plea- 
sure which  attends  the  putting  forth  of  the  act.  For  if  pleasure 
be  the  feeling  of  self,  and  accompany  the  act,  this  indicates  that 
the  putting  forth  of  the  act  is  also  the  putting  forth  of  the  self. 

But  we  must  not  lay  too  much  stress  on  the  moral  conscious- 
ness, for  we  shall  be  reminded,  perhaps,  that  not  only  can  it  be, 
but,  like  the  miser’s  consciousness,  it  frequently  has  been  ex- 
plained ; and  that  both  states  of  mind  are  illusions  generated  on 
one  and  the  same  principle. 

Let  us  then  dismiss  the  moral  consciousness,  and  not  trouble 


ETHICAL  STUDIES 


727 


ourselves  about  what  we  think  we  ought  to  do ; let  us  try  to  show 
that  what  we  do  do,  is,  perfectly  or  imperfectly,  to  realize  our- 
selves, and  that  we  cannot  possibly  do  anything  else ; that  all  we 
can  realize  is  (accident  apart)  our  ends,  or  the  objects  we  desire; 
and  that  all  we  can  desire  is,  in  a word,  self. 

This,  we  think,  will  be  readily  admitted  by  our  main  psycho- 
logical party.  What  we  wish  to  avoid  is  that  it  should  be  ad- 
mitted in  a form  which  makes  it  unmeaning;  and  of  this  there 
is  perhaps  some  danger.  We  do  not  want  the  reader  to  say,  “Oh, 
yes,  of  course,  relativity  of  knowledge,  — everything  is  a state  of 
consciousness,”  and  so  dismiss  the  question.  If  the  reader  believes 
that  a steam-engine,  after  it  is  made,  is  nothing  but  a state  of  the 
mind  of  the  person  or  persons  who  have  made  it,  or  who  are 
looking  at  it,  we  do  not  hold  what  we  feel  tempted  to  call  such  a 
silly  doctrine ; and  would  point  out  to  those  who  do  hold  it  that, 
at  all  events,  the  engine  is  a very  different  state  of  mind,  after  it  is 
made,  to  what  it  was  before. 

Again,  we  do  not  want  the  reader  to  say,  “Certainly,  every 
object  or  end  which  I propose  to  myself  is,  as  such,  a mere  state 
of  my  mind  — it  is  a thought  in  my  head,  or  a state  of  me ; and  so 
when  it  becomes  real,  I become  real  ” ; because,  though  it  is  very 
true  that  my  thought,  as  my  thought,  cannot  exist  apart  from  me 
thinking  it,  and  therefore  my  proposed  erid  must,  as  such,  be  a 
state  of  me ; yet  this  is  not  what  we  are  driving  at.  All  my  ends 
are  my  thoughts,  but  all  my  thoughts  are  not  my  ends;  and  if 
what  we  meant  by  self-realization  was,  that  I have  in  my  head  the 
idea  of  any  future  external  event,  then  I should  realize  myself 
practically  when  I see  that  the  engine  is  going  to  run  off  the  line, 
and  it  does  so. 

A desired  object  (as  desired)  is  a thought,  and  my  thought;  but 
it  is  something  more,  and  that  something  more  is,  in  short,  that  it 
is  desired  by  me.  And  we  ought  by  right,  before  we  go  further, 
to  exhibit  a theory  of  desire ; but,  if  we  could  do  that,  we  could 
not  stop  to  do  it.  However,  we  say  with  confidence  that,  in  de- 
sire, what  is  desired  must  in  all  cases  be  self. 

If  we  could  accept  the  theory  that  the  end  or  motive  is  always 
the  idea  of  a pleasure  (or  pain)  of  our  own,  which  is  associated 


FRANCIS  HERBERT  BRADLEY 


728 

with  the  object  presented,  and  which  is  that  in  the  object  which 
moves  us,  and  the  only  thing  which  does  move  us,  then  from 
such  a view  it  would  follow  at  once  that  all  we  can  aim  at  is  a 
state  of  ourselves. 

We  cannot,  however,  accept  the  theory,  since  we  believe  it  both 
to  ignore  and  to  be  contrary  to  facts ; but,  though  we  do  not  admit 
that  the  motive  is  always,  or  in  most  cases,  the  idea  of  a state  of 
our  feeling  self,  yet  we  think  it  is  clear  that  nothing  moves  unless 
it  be  desired,  and  that  what  is  desired  is  ourself.  For  all  objects 
or  ends  have  been  associated  with  our  satisfaction,  or  (more  cor- 
rectly) have  been  felt  in  and  as  ourselves,  or  we  have  felt  ourselves 
therein ; and  the  only  reason  why  they  move  us  now  is  that,  when 
they  are  presented  to  our  minds  as  motives,  we  do  now  feel  our- 
selves asserted  or  affirmed  in  them.  The  essence  of  desire  for  an 
object  would  thus  be  the  feeling  of  our  affirmation  in  the  idea  of 
something  not  ourself,  felt  against  the  feeling  of  ourself  as,  with- 
out the  object,  void  and  negated;  and  it  is  the  tension  of  this  rela- 
tion which  produces  motion.  If  so,  then  nothing  is  desired  except 
that  which  is  identified  with  ourselves,  and  we  can  aim  at  nothing, 
except  so  far  as  we  aim  at  ourselves  in  it. 

But  passing  by  the  above,  which  we  cannot  here  expound  and 
which  we  lay  no  stress  on,  we  think  that  the  reader  will  probably 
go  with  us  so  far  as  this,  that  in  desire  what  we  want,  so  far  as  we 
want  it,  is  ourselves  in  some  form,  or  is  some  state  of  ourselves, 
and  that  our  wanting  anything  else  would  be  psychologically 
inexplicable. 

Let  us  take  this  for  granted  then ; but  is  this  what  we  mean  by 
self-realization?  Is  the  conclusion  that,  in  trying  to  realize,  we 
try  to  realize  some  state  of  ourself,  all  that  we  are  driving  at? 
No,  the  self  we  try  to  realize  is  for  us  a whole,  it  is  not  a mere 
collection  of  states. 

If  we  may  presuppose  in  the  reader  a belief  in  the  doctrine  that 
what  is  wanted  is  a state  of  self,  we  wish,  standing  upon  that,  to 
urge  further  that  the  whole  self  is  present  in  its  states,  and  that 
therefore  the  whole  self  is  the  object  aimed  at;  and  this  is  what 
we  mean  by  self-realization.  If  a state  of  self  is  what  is  desired, 
can  you,  we  wish  to  ask,  have  states  of  self,  which  are  states  of 


ETHICAL  STUDIES 


729 


nothing;  can  you  possibly  succeed  in  regarding  the  self  as  a col- 
lection, or  stream,  or  train,  or  series,  or  aggregate?  If  you  can- 
not think  of  it  as  a mere  one,  can  you  on  the  other  hand  think  of  it 
as  a mere  many,  as  mere  ones ; or  are  you  not  driven,  wEether  you 
wish  it  or  not,  to  regard  it  as  a one  in  many,  or  a many  in  one  ? 
Are  we  not  forced  to  look  on  the  self  as  a whole,  which  is  not 
merely  the  sum  of  its  parts,  not  yet  some  other  particular  beside 
them  ? And  must  we  not  say  that  to  realize  self  is  always  to  realize 
a whole,  and  that  the  question  in  morals  is  to  find  the  true  whole, 
realizing  which  will  practically  realize  the  true  self  ? 

This  is  the  question  which  to  the  end  of  this  volume  we  shall 
find  ourselves  engaged  on.  For  the  present,  turning  our  attention 
away  from  it  in  this  form,  and  contenting  ourselves  with  the  pro- 
position that  to  realize  is  to  realize  self,  let  us  now,  apart  from 
questions  of  psychology  or  metaphysics,  see  what  ends  they  are, 
in  fact,  which  living  men  do  propose  to  themselves,  and  whether 
these  do  not  take  the  form  of  a whole. 

Upon  this  point  there  is  no  need,  I think,  to  dwell  at  any 
length ; for  it  seems  clear  that,  if  we  ask  ourselves  what  it  is  we 
should  most  wish  for,  we  find  some  general  wish  which  would 
include  and  imply  our  particular  wishes.  And,  if  we  turn  to  life, 
we  see  that  no  man  has  disconnected  particular  ends;  he  looks 
beyond  the  moment,  beyond  this  or  that  circumstance  or  position ; 
his  ends  are  subordinated  to  wider  ends;  each  situation  is  seen 
(consciously  or  unconsciously)  as  part  of  a broader  situation,  and 
in  this  or  that  act  he  is  aiming  at  and  realizing  some  larger  whole, 
which  is  not  real  in  any  particular  act  as  such,  and  yet  is  realized 
in  the  body  of  acts  which  carry  it  out.  We  need  not  stop  here, 
because  the  existence  of  larger  ends,  which  embrace  smaller  ends, 
cannot  be  doubted ; and  so  far  we  may  say  that  the  self  we  realize 
is  identified  with  wholes,  or  that  the  ideas  of  the  states  of  self  we 
realize  are  associated  with  ideas  that  stand  for  wholes. 

But  is  it  also  true  that  these  larger  wholes  are  included  in  one 
whole?  I think  that  it  is.  I am  not  forgetting  that  we  act,  as  a 
rule,  not  from  principle  or  with  the  principle  before  us,  and  I wish 
the  reader  not  to  forget  that  the  principle  may  be  there  and  may 
be  our  basis  or  our  goal,  without  our  knowing  anything  about  it. 


73^ 


FRANCIS  HERBERT  BRADLEY 


And  here,  of  course,  I am  not  saying  that  it  has  occurred  to  every 
one  to  ask  himself  whether  he  aims  at  a whole,  and  what  that 
is;  because  considerable  reflection  is  required  for  this  and  the 
amount  need  not  have  been  reached.  Nor  again  am  I saying  that 
every  man’s  actions  are  consistent,  that  he  does  not  wander  from 
his  end,  and  that  he  has  not  particular  ends  which  will  not  come 
under  his  main  end.  Nor  further  do  I assert  that  the  life  of  every 
man  does  form  a whole ; that  in  some  men  there  are  not  co-ordi- 
nated ends,  which  are  incompatible  and  incapable  of  subordina- 
tion into  a system.  What  I am  saying  is,  that  if  the  life  of  the 
normal  man  be  inspected,  and  the  ends  he  has  in  view  (as  exhib- 
ited in  his  acts)  be  considered,  they  will,  roughly  speaking,  be 
embraced  in  one  main  end  or  whole  of  ends.  It  has  been  said 
that  “every man  has  a different  notion  of  happiness,”  but  this 
is  scarcely  correct,  unless  mere  detail  be  referred  to.  Certainly, 
however,  every  man  has  a notion  of  happiness,  and  his  notion, 
though  he  may  not  quite  know  what  it  is.  Most  men  have  a life 
which  they  live,  and  with  which  they  are  tolerably  satisfied,  and 
that  life,  when  examined,  is  seen  to  be  fairly  systematic ; it  is  seen 
to  be  a sphere  including  spheres,  the  lower  spheres  subordinating 
to  themselves  and  qualifying  particular  actions,  and  themselves 
subordinated  to  and  qualified  by  the  whole.  And  most  men  have 
more  or  less  of  an  ideal  of  life  — a notion  of  perfect  happiness, 
which  is  never  quite  attained  in  real  life ; and  if  you  take  (not  of 
course  any  one,  but)  the  normal  decent  and  serious  man,  when 
he  has,  been  long  enough  in  the  world  to  know  what  he  wants, 
you  will  find  that  his  notion  of  perfect  happiness,  or  ideal  life,  is 
not  something  straggling,  as  it  were,  and  discontinuous,  but  is 
brought  before  the  mind  as  an  unity;  and,  if  imagined  more  in 
detail,  is  a system  where  particulars  subserve  one  whole. 

Without  further  dwelling  on  this,  I will  ask  the  reader  to  re- 
flect whether  the  ends,  proposed  to  themselves  by  ordinary  per- 
sons, are  not  wholes,  and  are  not  in  the  end  members  in  a larger 
whole;  and,  if  that  be  so,  whether,  since  it  is  so,  and  since  all 
we  can  want  must  (as  before  stated)  be  ourselves,  we  must  not 
now  say  that  we  aim  not  only  at  the  realization  of  self,  but  of  self 
as  a whole;  seeing  that  there  is  a general  object  of  desire  with 


ETHICAL  STUDIES 


731 

which  self  is  identified,  or  (on  another  view)  with  the  idea  of 
which  the  idea  of  our  pleasure  is  associated. 

Up  to  the  present  we  have  been  trying  to  point  out  that  what 
we  aim  at  is  self,  and  self  as  a whole;  in  other  words,  that  self  as 
a whole  is,  in  the  end,  the  content  of  our  wills.  It  will  still  further, 
perhaps,  tend  to  clear  the  matter,  if  we  refer  to  the  form  of  the  will 
— not,  of  course,  suggesting  that  the  form  is  anything  real  apart 
from  the  content. 

On  this  head  we  are  obliged  to  restrict  ourselves  to  the  assertion 
of  what  we  believe  to  be  fact.  We  remarked  in  our  last  Essay 
that,  in  saying  “ I will  this  or  that,”  we  really  mean  something.  In 
saying  it  we  do  not  mean  (at  least,  not  as  a rule)  to  distinguish 
a self  that  wills  from  a self  that  does  not  will ; but  what  we  do 
mean  is  to  distinguish  the  self,  as  will  in  general,  from  this  or  that 
object  of  desire ; and,  at  the  same  time,  to  identify  the  two ; to  say, 
this  or  that  is  willed,  or  the  will  has  uttered  itself  in  this  or  that. 
The  will  is  looked  on  as  a whole,  and  there  are  two  sides  or  fac- 
tors to  that  whole.  Let  us  consider  an  act  of  will,  and,  that  we 
may  see  more  clearly,  let  us  take  a deliberate  volitional  choice. 
We  have  conflicting  desires,  say  A and  B ; we  feel  two  tensions, 
two  drawings  (so  to  speak) , but  we  cannot  actually  affirm  our- 
selves in  both.  Action  does  not  follow,  and  we  reflect  on  the  two 
objects  of  desire,  and  we  are  aware  that  we  are  reflecting  on  them, 
or  (if  our  language  allowed  us  to  say  it)  over  them.  But  we  do  not 
merely  stand  looking  on  till,  so  to  speak,  we  find  we  are  gone  in 
one  direction,  have  closed  with  AorB.  For  we  are  av/ are  besides 
of  ourselves,  not  simply  as  something  theoretically  above  A and 
B,  but  as  something  also  practically  above  them,  as  a concentra- 
tion which  is  not  one  or  the  other,  but  which  is  the  possibility  of 
either,  which  is  the  inner  side  indifferently  of  an  act  which  should 
realize  A,  or  one  which  should  realize  B ; and  hence,  which  is 
neither,  and  yet  is  superior  to  both.  In  short,  we  do  not  simply 
feel  ourselves  in  A and  B,  but  have  distinguished  ourselves  from 
both,  as  what  is  above  both.  This  is  one  factor  in  volition,  and  it 
is  hard  to  find  any  name  better  for  it  than  that  of  the  universal 
factor,  or  side,  or  moment.  We  need  say  much  less  about  the 
second  factor.  In  order  to  will,  we  must  will  something;  the  uni- 


732 


FRANCIS  HERBERT  BRADLEY 


versal  side  by  itself  is  not  will  at  all.  To  will  we  must  identify  our- 
selves with  this,  that,  or  the  other ; and  here  we  have  the  particular 
side,  and  the  second  factor  in  volition.  Thirdly,  the  volition  as  a 
whole  (and  first,  as  a whole,  is  it  volition)  is  the  identity  of  both 
these  factors,  and  the  projection  or  carrying  of  it  out  into  external 
existence ; the  realization  both  of  the  particular  side,  the  this  or 
that  to  be  done,  and  the  realization  of  the  inner  side  of  self  in  the 
doing  of  it,  with  a realization  of  self  in  both,  as  is  proclaimed  by 
the  feeling  of  pleasure.  This  unity  of  the  two  factors  we  may  call 
the  individual  whole,  or  again  the  concrete  universal;  and,  al- 
though we  are  seldom  conscious  of  the  distinct  factors,  yet  every 
act  of  will  will  be  seen,  when  analyzed,  to  be  a whole  of  this  kind, 
and  so  to  realize  what  is  always  the  nature  of  the  will. 

But  to  what  end  have  we  made  this  statement  ? Our  object  has 
been  to  draw  the  attention  of  the  reader  to  the  fact  that  not  only 
what  is  willed  by  men,  the  end  they  set  before  themselves,  is  a 
whole,  but  also  that  the  will  itself,  looked  at  apart  from  any  par- 
ticular object  or  content,  is  a similar  whole:  or,  to  put  it  in  its 
proper  order,  the  self  is  realized  in  a whole  of  ends  because  it  is 
a whole,  and  because  it  is  not  satisfied  till  it  has  found  itself,  till 
content  be  adequate  to  form,  and  that  content  be  realized;  and 
this  is  what  we  mean  by  practical  self-realization. 

“Realize  yourself,”  “realize  yourself  as  a whole,”  is  the  result 
of  the  foregoing.  The  reader,  I fear,  may  be  wearied  already  by 
these  prefatory  remarks,  but  it  will  be  better  in  the  end  if  we  delay 
yet  longer.  All  we  know  at  present  is  that  we  are  to  realize  self 
as  a whole;  but  as  to  what  whole  it  is,  we  know  nothing,  and 
must  further  consider. 

The  end  we  desire  (to  repeat  it)  is  the  finding  and  possessing 
ourselves  as  a whole.  We  aim  at  this  both  in  theory  and  practice. 
What  we  want  in  theory  is  to  understand  the  object;  we  want 
neither  to  remove  nor  alter  the  world  of  sensuous  fact,  but  we 
want  to  get  at  the  truth  of  it.  The  whole  of  science  takes  it  for 
granted  that  the  “not-ourself”  is  really  intelligible;  it  stands  and 
falls  with  this  assumption.  So  long  as  our  theory  strikes  on  the 
mind  as  strange  and  alien,  so  long  do  we  say  we  have  not  found 
truth;  we  feel  the  impulse  to  go  beyond  and  beyond,  we  alter 


ETHICAL  STUDIES 


733 


and  alter  our  views,  till  we  see  them  as  a consistent  whole.  There 
we  rest,  because  then  we  have  found  the  nature  of  our  own  mind 
and  the  truth  of  facts  in  one.  And  in  practice  again,  with  a dif- 
ference, we  have  the  same  want.  Here  our  aim  is  not,  leaving 
the  given  as  it  is,  to  find  the  truth  of  it;  but  here  we  want  to  force 
the  sensuous  fact  to  correspond  to  the  truth  of  ourselves.  We 
say,  “My  sensuous  existence  is  thus,  but  I truly  am  not  thus;  I 
am  different.”  On  the  one  hand,  as  a matter  of  fact,  I and  my 
existing  world  are  discrepant;  on  the  other  hand,  the  instinct  of 
my  nature  tells  me  that  the  world  is  mine.  On  that  impulse  I 
act,  I alter  and  alter  the  sensuous  facts,  till  I find  in  them  no- 
thing but  myself  carried  out.  Then  I possess  my  world,  and  I 
do  not  possess  it  until  I find  my  will  in  it;  and  I do  not  find  that, 
until  what  I have  is  a harmony  or  a whole  in  system. 

Both  in  theory  and  practice  my  end  is  to  realize  myself  as  a 
whole.  But  is  this  all  ? Is  a consistent  view  all  that  we  want  in 
theory  ? Is  a harmonious  life  all  that  we  want  in  practice  ? Cer- 
tainly not.  A doctrine  must  not  only  hold  together,  but  it  must 
hold  the  facts  together  as  well.  We  cannot  rest  in  it  simply  be- 
cause it  does  not  contradict  itself.  The  theory  must  take  in  the 
facts,  and  an  ultimate  theory  must  take  in  all  the  facts.  So  again 
in  practice.  It  is  no  human  ideal  to  lead  “ the  life  of  an  oyster.” 
We  have  no  right  first  to  find  out  just  what  we  happen  to  be  and 
to  have,  and  then  to  contract  our  wants  to  that  limit.  We  cannot 
do  it  if  we  would,  and  morality  calls  to  us  that,  if  we  try  to  do  it, 
we  are  false  to  ourselves.  Against  the  sensuous  facts  around  us 
and  within  us,  we  must  forever  attempt  to  widen  our  empire ; we 
must  at  least  try  to  go  forward,  or  we  shall  certainly  be  driven 
back. 

So  self-realization  means  more  than  the  mere  assertion  of  the 
self  as  a whole.  And  here  we  may  refer  to  two  principles,  which 
Kant  put  forward  under  the  names  of  “Homogeneity”  and 
“Specification.”  Not  troubling  ourselves  with  our  relation  to 
Kant,  we  may  say  that  the  ideal  is  neither  to  be  perfectly  homo- 
geneous, nor  simply  to  be  specified  to  the  last  degree,  but  rather 
to  combine  both  these  elements.  Our  true  being  is  not  the  extreme 
of  unity,  nor  of  diversity,  but  the  perfect  identity  of  both.  And 


734 


FRANCIS  HERBERT  BRADLEY 


“Realize  yourself”  does  not  mean  merely  “Be  a whole,”  but 
“ Be  an  infinite  whole.” 

At  this  word,  I am  afraid,  the  reader  who  has  not  yet  despaired 
of  us  will  come  to  a stop,  and  refuse  to  enter  into  the  region  of 
nonsense.  But  why  should  it  be  nonsense?  When  the  poet  and 
the  preacher  tell  us  the  mind  is  infinite,  most  of  us  feel  that  it  is 
so ; and  has  our  science  really  come  to  this,  that  the  beliefs  which 
answer  to  our  highest  feelings  must  be  theoretical  absurdities? 
Should  not  the  philosophy,  which  tells  us  such  a thing,  be  very 
sure  of  the  ground  it  goes  upon  ? But  if  the  reader  will  follow 
me,  I think  I can  show  him  that  the  mere  finitude  of  the  mind  is 
a more  difficult  thesis  to  support  than  its  infinity. 

It  would  be  well  if  I could  ask  the  reader  to  tell  me  what  he 
means  by  “finite.”  As  that  cannot  be,  I must  say  that  finite  is 
limited  or  ended.  To  be  finite  is  to  be  some  one  among  others, 
some  one  which  is  not  others.  One  finite  ends  where  the  other 
finite  begins;  it  is  bounded  from  the  outside,  and  cannot  go  be- 
yond itself  without  becoming  something  else,  and  thereby  per- 
ishing. 

“The  mind,”  we  are  told,  “is  finite;  and  the  reason  why  we 
say  it  is  finite  is  that  we  know  it  is  finite.  The  mind  knows  that 
itself  is  finite.”  This  is  the  doctrine  we  have  to  oppose. 

We  answer.  The  mind  is  not  finite,  just  because  it  knows  it  is 
finite.  “The  knowledge  of  the  limit  suppresses  the  limit.”  It  is 
a flagrant  self-contradiction  that  the  finite  should  know  its  own 
finitude;  and  it  is  not  hard  to  make  this  plain. 

Finite  means  limited  from  the  outside  and  by  the  outside.  The 
finite  is  to  know  itself  as  this,  or  not  as  finite.  If  its  knowledge 
ceases  to  fall  wholly  within  itself,  then  so  far  it  is  not  finite.  It 
knows  that  it  is  limited  from  the  outside  and  by  the  outside,  and 
that  means  it  knows  the  outside.  But  if  so,  then  it  is  so  far  not 
finite.  If  its  whole  being  fell  within  itself,  then,  in  knowdng  itself, 
it  could  not  know  that  there  was  anything  outside  itself.  It  does 
do  the  latter;  hence  the  former  supposition  is  false. 

Imagine  a man  shut  up  in  a room,  who  said  to  us,  “My  facul- 
ties are  entirely  confined  to  the  inside  of  this  room.  The  limit  of 
the  room  is  the  limit  of  my  mind,  and  so  I can  have  no  knowledge 


ETHICAL  STUDIES 


735 


whatever  of  the  outside”;  should  we  not  answer,  “My  dear  sir, 
you  contradict  yourself.  If  it  were  as  you  say,  you  could  not  know 
of  an  outside,  and  so,  by  consequence,  not  of  an  inside,  as  such. 
You  should  be  in  earnest  and  go  through  with  your  doctrine  of 
‘relativity.’” 

To  the  above  simple  argument  I fear  we  may  not  have  done 
justice.  However  that  be,  I know  of  no  answer  to  it;  and  until 
we  find  one,  we  must  say  that  it  is  not  true  that  the  mind  is  finite. 

If  I am  to  realize  myself,  it  must  be  as  infinite;  and  now  the 
question  is.  What  does  infinite  mean  ? and  it  will  be  better  to  say 
first  what  it  does  not  mean.  There  are  two  wrong  views  on  the 
subject,  which  we  will  take  one  at  a time. 

(1)  Infinite  is  not- finite,  and  that  means  “end-less.”  What 
does  endless  mean?  Not  the  mere  negation  of  end,  because  a 
mere  negation  is  nothing  at  all,  and  infinite  would  thus=o.  The 
endless  is  something  positive;  it  means  a positive  quantity  which 
has  no  end.  Any  given  number  of  units  is  finite;  but  a series  of 
units,  which  is  produced  indefinitely,  is  infinite.  This  is  the  sense 
of  infinite  which  is  in  most  common  use,  and  which,  we  shall  see, 
is  what  Hedonism  believes  in.  It  is,  however,  clear  that  this  infinite 
is  a perpetual  self-contradiction,  and,  so  far  as  it  is  real,  is  only 
finite.  Any  real  quantity  has  ends,  beyond  which  it  does  not  go. 
“ Increase  the  quantity  ” merely  says,  “ Put  the  end  further  off  ” ; 
but  in  saying  that,  it  does  say,  “Put  the  end.”  “Increase  the 
quantity  forever”  means,  “Have  forever  a finite  quantity,  and 
forever  say  that  it  is  not  finite.”  In  other  words,  “ Remove  the 
end”  does  imply,  by  that  very  removal  and  the  production  of  the 
series,  the  making  of  a fresh  end;  so  that  we  still  have  a finite 
quantity.  Here,  so  far  as  the  infinite  exists,  it  is  finite;  so  far  as 
it  is  told  to  exist,  it  is  told  again  to  be  nothing  but  finite. 

(2)  Or,  secondly,  the  infinite  is  not  the  finite,  no  longer  in  the 
sense  of  being  more  in  quantity,  but  in  the  sense  of  being  some- 
thing else,  which  is  different  in  quality.  The  infinite  is  not  in  the 
world  of  limited  things;  it  exists  in  a sphere  of  its  own.  The 
mind  {e.  g.)  is  something  beside  the  aggregate  of  its  states.  God  is 
something  beside  the  things  of  this  world.  This  is  the  infinite 
believed  in  by  abstract  Duty.  But  here  once  more,  against  its  will, 


736  FRANCIS  HERBERT  BRADLEY 

infinite  comes  to  mean  merely  finite.  The  infinite  is  a something 
over  against,  beside,  and  outside  the  finite;  and  hence  is  itself 
also  finite,  because  limited  by  something  else. 

In  neither  of  these  two  senses  is  the  mind  infinite.  What  then 
is  the  true  sense  of  infinite  ? As  before,  it  is  the  negation  of  the 
finite;  it  is  not-finite.  But,  unlike  both  the  false  infinites,  it  does 
not  leave  the  finite  as  it  is.  It  neither,  with  (i),  says  “ the  finite  is 
to  be  not-finite,  nor,  with  (2),  tries  to  get  rid  of  it  by  doubling  it. 
It  does  really  negate  the  finite,  so  that  the  finite  disappears,  not 
by  having  a negative  set  over  against  it,  but  by  being  taken  up  into 
a higher  unity,  in  which  becoming  an  element,  it  ceases  to  have 
its  original  character,  and  is  both  suppressed  and  preserved. 
The  infinite  is  thus  “the  unity  of  the  finite  and  infinite.”  The 
finite  was  determined  from  the  outside,  so  that  everywhere  to 
characterize  and  distinguish  it  was  in  fact  to  divide  it.  Wherever 
you  defined  anything  you  were  at  once  carried  beyond  to  some- 
thing else  and  something  else,  and  this  because  the  negative, 
required  for  distinction,  was  an  outside  other.  In  the  infinite 
you  can  distinguish  without  dividing;  for  this  is  an  unity  holding 
within  itself  subordinated  factors  which  are  negative  of,  and  so 
distinguishable  from,  each  other;  while  at  the  same  time  the 
whole  is  so  present  in  each,  that  each  has  its  own  being  in  its 
opposite,  and  depends  on  that  relation  for  its  own  life.  The 
negative  is  also  its  affirmation.  Thus  the  infinite  has  a distinc- 
tion, and  so  a negation,  in  itself,  but  is  distinct  from  and  negated 
by  nothing  but  itself.  Far  from  being  one  something  which  is 
not  another  something,  it  is  a whole  in  which  both  one  and  the 
other  are  mere  elements.  This  whole  is  hence  “relative”  utterly 
and  through  and  through,  but  the  relation  does  not  fall  outside 
it;  the  relatives  are  moments  in  which  it  is  the  relation  of  itself 
to  itself,  and  so  is  above  the  relation,  and  is  absolute  reality.  The 
finite  is  relative  to  something  eAe;  the  infinite  is  5c^-related.  It 
is  this  sort  of  infinite  which  the  mind  is.  The  simplest  symbol  of 
it  is  the  circle,  the  line  which  returns  into  itself,  not  the  straight 
line  produced  indefinitely;  and  the  readiest  way  to  find  it  is  to 
consider  the  satisfaction  of  desire.  There  we  have  myself  and 
its  opposite,  and  the  return  from  the  opposite,  the  finding  in  the 


ETHICAL  STUDIES 


W 

other  nothing  but  self.  And  here  it  would  be  well  to  recall  what 
we  said  above  on  the  form  of  the  will. 

If  the  reader,  to  whom  this  account  of  the  infinite  is  new,  has 
found  it  in  any  way  intelligible,  I think  he  will  see  that  there  is 
some  sense  in  it,  when  we  say,  “Realize  yourself  as  an  infinite 
whole”;  or,  in  other  words,  “Be  specified  in  yourself,  but  not 
specified  by  anything  foreign  to  yourself.” 

But  the  objection  comes,  “Morality  tells  us  to  progress;  it 
tells  us  we  are  not  concluded  in  ourselves  nor  perfect,  but  that 
there  exists  a not-ourself,  which  never  does  wholly  become  our- 
self. And,  apart  from  morality,  it  is  obvious  that  I and  you,  this 
man  and  the  other  man,  are  finite  beings.  We  are  not  one  an- 
other; more  or  less  we  must  limit  each  other’s  sphere;  I am  what 
I am  more  or  less  by  external  relations,  and  I do  not  fall  wholly 
within  myself.  Thus  I am  to  be  infinite,  to  have  no  limit  from  the 
outside ; and  yet  I am  one  among  others,  and  therefore  am  finite. 
It  is  all  very  well  to  tell  me  that  in  me  there  is  infinity,  the  per- 
fect identity  of  subject  and  object:  that  I may  be  willing  perhaps 
to  believe,  but  none  the  less  than  I am  finite.” 

We  admit  the  full  force  of  the  objection.  I avi  finite;  I am 
both  infinite  and  finite,  and  that  is  why  my  moral  life  is  a perpet- 
ual progress.  I must  progress,  because  I have  an  other  which  is 
to  be,  and  yet  never  quite  is,  myself ; and  so,  as  I am,  am  in  a state 
of  contradiction. 

It  is  not  that  I wish  to  increase  the  mere  quantity  of  my  true 
self.  It  is  that  I wish  to  be  nothing  hut  my  true  self,  to  be  rid  of 
all  external  relations,  to  bring  them  all  within  me,  and  so  to  fall 
wholly  within  myself. 

I am  to  be  perfectly  homogeneous ; but  that  I cannot  be  unless 
fully  specified,  and  the  question  is,  How  can  I be  extended  so 
as  to  take  in  my  external  relations?  Goethe  ^ has  said,  “Be  a 
whole  or  join  a whole,”  but  to  that  we  must  answer,  “You  can- 
not be  a whole,  unless  you  join  a whole.” 

The  difficulty  is,  being  limited  and  so  not  a whole,  how  extend 

^ Immer  strebe  zum  Ganzen,  und  kannst  du  selber  kein  Ganzes 
Werden,  als  dienendes  Glied  schliess’  an  ein  Ganzes  dich  an. 

Vier  Jahreszeiten,  45. 


738  FRANCIS  HERBERT  BRADLEY 

myself  so  as  to  be  a whole  ? The  answer  is,  be  a member  in  a 
whole.  Here  your  private  self,  your  finitude,  ceases  as  such  to 
exist;  it  becomes  the  function  of  an  organism.  You  must  be,  not 
a mere  piece  of,  but  a member  in  a whole;  and  as  this  must  know 
and  will  yourself. 

The  whole,  to  which  you  belong,  specifies  itself  in  the  detail  of 
its  functions,  and  yet  remains  homogeneous.  It  lives  not  many 
lives  but  one  life,  and  yet  cannot  live  except  in  its  many  members. 
Just  so,  each  one  of  the  members  is  alive,  but  not  apart  from  the 
whole  which  lives  in  it.  The  organism  is  homogeneous  because  it 
is  specified,  and  specified  because  it  is  homogeneous. 

“But,”  it  will  be  said,  “what  is  that  to  me?  I remain  one 
member,  and  I am  not  other  members.  The  more  perfect  the 
organism,  the  more  is  it  specified,  and  so  much  the  intenser  be- 
comes its  homogeneity.  But  its  ‘more’  means  my  ‘less.’  The 
unity  falls  in  the  whole,  and  so  outside  me;  and  the  greater  speci- 
fication of  the  whole  means  the  making  me  more  special,  more 
narrowed,  and  limited,  and  less  developed  within  myself.” 

We  answer  that  this  leaves  out  of  sight  a fact  quite  palpable  and 
of  enormous  significance,  viz.,  that  in  the  moral  organism  the 
members  are  aware  of  themselves,  and  aware  of  themselves  as 
members.  I do  not  know  myself  as  mere  this,  against  something 
else  which  is  not  myself.  The  relations  of  the  others  to  me  are 
not  mere  external  relations.  I know  myself  as  a member;  that 
means  I am  aware  of  my  own  function ; but  it  means  also  that  I 
am  aware  of  the  whole  as  specifying  itself  in  me.  The  will  of  the 
whole  knowingly  wills  itself  in  me;  the  will  of  the  whole  is  the 
will  of  the  members,  and  so,  in  willing  my  own  function,  I do 
know  that  the  others  will  themselves  in  me.  I do  know  again  that 
I will  myself  in  the  others,  and  in  them  find  my  will  once  more  as 
not  mine,  and  yet  as  mine.  It  is  false  that  the  homogeneity  falls 
outside  me;  it  is  not  only  in  me,  but  for  me  too;  and  apart  from 
my  life  in  it,  my  knowledge  of  it,  and  devotion  to  it,  I am  not 
myself.  When  it  goes  out  my  heart  goes  out  with  it,  where  it 
triumphs  I rejoice,  where  it  is  maimed  I suffer;  separate  me  from 
the  love  of  it,  and  I perish. 

No  doubt  the  distinction  of  separate  selves  remains,  but  the 


ETHICAL  STUDIES 


739 


point  is  this.  In  morality  the  existence  of  my  mere  private  self, 
as  such,  is  something  which  ought  not  to  be,  and  which,  so  far  as 
I am  moral,  has  already  ceased.  I am  morally  realized,  not  until 
my  personal  self  has  utterly  ceased  to  be  my  exclusive  self,  is  no 
more  a will  which  is  outside  others’  wills,  but  finds  in  the  world  of 
others  nothing  but  self. 

“Realize  yourself  as  an  infinite  whole”  means  “Realize  your- 
self  as  the  self-conscious  member  of  an  infinite  whole,  by  realizing 
that  whole  in  yourself.”  When  that  whole  is  truly  infinite,  and 
when  your  personal  will  is  wholly  made  one  with  it,  then  you  also 
have  reached  the  extreme  of  homogeneity  and  specification  in 
one,  and  have  attained  a perfect  self-realization. 

The  foregoing  will,  we  hope,  become  clear  to  the  reader  of  this 
volume.  He  must  consider  what  has  been  said  so  far  as  the  text, 
which  the  sequel  is  to  illustrate  and  work  out  in  detail.  Mean- 
while, our  aim  has  been  to  put  forward  the  formula  of  self-realiza- 
tion, and  in  some  measure  to  explain  it.  The  following  Essays 
will  furnish,  we  hope,  something  like  a commentary  and  justifica- 
tion. We  shall  see  that  the  self  to  be  realized  is  not  the  self  as  a 
collection  of  particulars,  is  not  the  universal  as  all  the  states  of  a 
certain  feeling;  and  that  it  is  not  again  an  abstract  universal,  as 
the  form  of  duty ; that  neither  are  in  harmony  with  life,  with  the 
moral  consciousness,  or  with  themselves;  that  when  the  self  is 
identified  with,  and  wills,  and  realizes  a concrete  universal,  a 
real  totality,  then  first  does  it  find  itself,  is  satisfied,  self-deter- 
mined, and  free,  “the  free  will  that  wills  itself  as  the  free  will.” 

Let  us  resume,  then,  the  results  of  the  present  Essay.  We  have 
attempted  to  show  (i)  That  the  formula  of  “what  for?”  must  be 
rejected  by  every  ethical  doctrine  as  not  universally  valid ; and 
that  hence  no  one  theory  can  gain  the  smallest  advantage  (except 
over  the  foolish)  by  putting  it  forward.  That  now  for  us  (as  it  was 
for  Hellas)  the  main  question  is.  There  being  some  end,  what  is 
that  end?  And  (2),  with  which  second  part,  if  it  fall,  the  first 
need  not  fall,  we  have  endeavoured  briefly  to  point  out  that  the 
final  end,  with  which  morality  is  identified,  or  under  which  it  is 
included,  can  be  expressed  not  otherwise  than  by  self-realizatioru 
^ Bradley’s  Ethical  Studies. 


THOMAS  HILL  GREEN 

(1836-1882) 

PROLEGOMENA  TO  ETHICS* 

Book  III.— THE  MORAL  IDEAL  AND  MORAL 
PROGRESS 

CHAPTER  II.  CHARACTERISTICS  OF  THE  MORAL 
* IDEAL 

A.  The  Personal  Character  of  the  Moral  Ideal 

Let  us  pause  here  to  take  stock  of  the  conclusions  so  far  arrived 
at.  It  will  be  convenient  to  state  them  in  dogmatic  form,  begging 
the  reader  to  understand  that  this  form  is  adopted  to  save  time, 
and  does  not  betoken  undue  assurance  on  the  part  of  the  writer. 
Through  certain  media,  and  under  certain  consequent  limita- 
tions, but  with  the  constant  characteristic  of  self-consciousness 
and  self-objectification,  the  one  divine  mind  gradually  repro- 
duces itself  in  the  human  soul.  In  virtue  of  this  principle  in  him 
man  has  definite  capabilities,  the  realisation  of  which,  since  in  it 
alone  he  can  satisfy  himself,  forms  his  true  good.  They  are  not 
realised,  however,  in  any  life  that  can  be  observed,  in  any  life 
that  has  been,  or  is,  or  (as  it  would  seem)  that  can  be  lived  by 
man  as  we  know  him;  and  for  this  reason  we  cannot  say  with 
any  adequacy  what  the  capabilities  are.  Yet,  because  the  es- 
sence of  man’s  spiritual  endowment  is  the  consciousness  of  hav- 
ing it,  the  idea  of  his  having  such  capabilities,  and  of  a possible 
better  state  of  himself  consisting  in  their  further  realisation,  is  a 
moving  influence  in  him.  It  has  been  the  parent  of  the  insti- 
tutions and  usages,  of  the  social  judgments  and  aspirations, 
through  which  human  life  has  been  so  far  bettered;  through 
which  man  has  so  far  realised  his  capabilities  and  marked  out 
the  path  that  he  must  follow  in  their  further  realisation.  As  his 
true  good  is  or  would  be  their  complete  realisation,  so  his  good- 

* Oxford,  Clarendon  Press,  1883 ; 4th  ed.,  ib.  1899. 


PROLEGOMENA  TO  ETHICS 


741 


ness  is  proportionate  to  his  habitual  responsiveness  to  the  idea 
of  there  being  such  a true  good,  in  the  various  forms  of  recog- 
nised duty  and  beneficent  -work  in  which  that  idea  has  so  far 
taken  shape  among  men.  In  other  words,  it  consists  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  will  to  objects  determined  for  it  by  this  idea,  as  opera- 
tive in  the  person  willing;  which  direction  of  the  will  we  may, 
upon  the  ground  stated,  fitly  call  its  determination  by  reason. 

Our  next  step  should  be  to  explain  further  how  it  is  that  the 
idea  in  man  of  a possible  better  state  of  himself,  consisting  in 
a further  realisation  of  his  capabilities,  has  been  the  moralising 
agent  in  human  life;  how  it  has  yielded  our  moral  standards, 
loyalty  to  which  — itself  the  product  of  the  same  idea  — is  the 
condition  of  goodness  in  the  individual.  Before  we  attempt  this 
explanation,  however,  it  will  be  well  to  clear  up  an  ambiguity 
which  will  probably  be  thought  to  lurk  in  the  doctrine  already 
advanced.  We  have  spoken  of  a certain  “divine  principle”  as 
the  ground  of  human  will  and  reason;  as  realising  itself  in  man; 
as  having  capabilities  of  which  the  full  development  would  con- 
stitute the  perfection  of  human  life;  of  direction  to  objects  con- 
tributory to  this  perfection  as  characteristic  of  a good  will.  But 
what,  it  will  be  asked,  is  to  be  understood  in  regard  to  the  rela- 
tion of  this  “divine  principle”  to  the  will  and  reason  of  individ- 
uals ? Does  it  realise  itself  in  persons,  in  you  and  me,  or  in  some 
impersonal  Humanity  ? Do  the  capabilities  spoken  of  admit  of 
fulfilment  in  individuals,  or  is  the  perfection  of  human  life  some 
organisation  of  society  in  which  the  individual  is  a perfectly  ad- 
justed means  to  an  end  which  he  is  not  in  himself?  Until  these 
questions  have  been  dealt  with,  a suspicion  may  fairly  be  enter- 
tained that  we  have  been  playing  fast  and  loose  with  the  con- 
ception of  man  as  in  himself  an  end  to  himself.  We  have  been 
taking  advantage,  it  may  be  said,  of  a speculation  in  regard  to  the 
development  of  the  human  race,  which  is  quite  a different  thing 
from  what  is  naturally  understood  by  a moral  progress  of  the 
individual,  to  justify  a theory  which  that  speculation,  fairly 
interpreted,  tends  rather  to  invalidate.  The  theory  we  want  to 
maintain  is  one  that  would  found  a supposed  duty,  and  a sup- 
posed possible  effort,  on  the  part  of  the  individual  to  make  him- 


742 


THOMAS  HILL  GREEN 


self  better,  upon  an  ideal  in  him  of  a possible  moral  perfection, 
upon  a conception  actuating  him  of  something  that  he  may 
possibly  become  as  an  absolute  end  in  himself.  Does  not  the 
belief  in  a development  of  the  human  race,  which  individuals 
indeed  unwittingly  promote  but  perish  in  promoting,  logically 
involve  the  complete  negation  of  such  a theory? 

It  is  clearly  of  the  very  essence  of  the  doctrine  above  ad- 
vanced that  the  divine  principle,  which  we  suppose  to  be  realising 
itself  in  man,  should  be  supposed  to  realise  itself  in  persons,  as 
such.  But  for  reflection  on  our  personality,  on  our  consciousness 
of  ourselves  as  objects  to  ourselves,  we  could  never  dream  of  there 
being  such  a self-realising  principle  at  all,  whether  as  implied  in 
the  world  or  in  ourselves.  It  is  only  because  we  are  consciously 
objects  to  ourselves,  that  we  can  conceive  a world  as  an  object 
to  a single  mind,  and  thus  as  a connected  whole.  It  is  the  irre- 
ducibility  of  this  self-objectifying  consciousness  to  anything  else, 
the  impossibility  of  accounting  for  it  as  an  effect,  that  compels 
us  to  regard  it  as  the  presence  in  us  of  the  mind  for  which  the 
world  exists.  To  admit,  therefore,  that  the  self-realisation  of  the 
divine  principle  can  take  place  otherwise  than  in  a consciousness 
which  is  an  object  to  itself,  would  be  in  contradiction  of  the  very 
ground  upon  which  we  believe  that  a divine  principle  does  so 
realise  itself  in  man.  Personality,  no  doubt,  is  a term  that  has 
often  been  fought  over  without  any  very  precise  meaning  being 
attached  to  it.  If  we  mean  anything  else  by  it  than  the  quality  in 
a subject  of  being  consciously  an  object  to  itself,  we  are  not  justi- 
fied in  saying  that  it  necessarily  belongs  to  God  and  to  any  being 
in  whom  God  in  any  measure  reproduces  or  realises  himself. 
But  whatever  we  mean  by  personality,  and  whatever  difficulties 
may  attach  to  the  notion  that  a divine  principle  realises  itself 
through  a qualifying  medium  in  the  persons  of  men,  it  is  certain 
that  we  shall  only  fall  in  contradictions  by  substituting  for  per- 
sons, as  the  subject  in  which  the  divine  self-realisation  takes 
place,  any  entity  to  which  self-consciousness  cannot  intelligibly 
be  ascribed.  If  it  is  impossible  that  the  divine  self-realisation 
should  be  complete  in  such  persons  as  we  are  or  can  conceive 
ourselves  coming  to  be,  on  the  other  hand  in  the  absence  of  self- 


PROLEGOMENA  TO  ETHICS 


743 

objectification,  which  is  at  least  the  essential  thing  in  personality, 
it  cannot  even  be  inchoate. 

This  consideration  has  an  important  bearing  upon  certain 
ways  of  thinking  or  speaking  in  which  we  are  apt  to  take  refuge 
when,  having  adopted  a theory  of  the  moral  life  as  the  fulfilment 
in  the  human  spirit  of  some  divine  idea,  we  are  called  upon 
to  face  the  difficulty  of  stating  whether  and  how  the  fulfilment 
is  really  achieved.  Any  life  which  the  individual  can  possibly 
live  is  at  best  so  limited  by  the  necessities  of  his  position,  that 
it  seems  impossible,  on  supposition  that  a divine  self-realising 
principle  is  at  work  in  it,  that  it  should  be  an  adequate  expres- 
sion of  such  a principle.  Granted  the  most  entire  devotion  of  a 
man  to  the  attainment  of  objects  contributory  to  human  per- 
fection, the  very  condition  of  his  effectually  promoting  that  end 
is  that  the  objects  in  which  he  is  actually  interested,  and  upon 
which  he  really  exercises  himself,  should  be  of  limited  range. 
The  idea,  unexpressed  and  inexpressible,  of  some  absolute  and 
all-embracing  end  is,  no  doubt,  the  source  of  such  devotion,  but 
it  can  only  take  effect  in  the  fulfilment  of  some  particular  func- 
tion in  which  it  finds  but  restricted  utterance.  It  is  in  fact  only 
so  far  as  we  are  members  of  a society,  of  which  we  can  conceive 
the  common  good  as  our  own,  that  the  idea  has  any  practical 
hold  on  us  at  all,  and  this  very  membership  implies  confinement 
in  our  individual  realisation  of  the  idea.  Each  has  primarily  to 
fulfil  the  duties  of  his  station.  His  capacity  for  action  beyond 
the  range  of  those  duties  is  definitely  bounded,  and  with  it  is 
definitely  bounded  also  his  sphere  of  personal  interests,  his  char- 
acter, his  realised  possibility.  No  one  so  confined,  it  would  seem, 
can  exhibit  all  that  the  Spirit,  working  through  and  in  him, 
properly  and  potentially  is.  Yet  is  not  such  confinement  the 
condition  of  the  only  personality  that  we  know  ? It  is  the  condi- 
tion of  social  life,  and  social  life  is  to  personality  what  language 
is  to  thought.  Language  presupposes  thought  as  a capacity,  but 
in  us  the  capacity  of  thought  is  only  actualised  in  language.  So 
human  society  presupposes  persons  in  capacity  — subjects  cap- 
able each  of  conceiving  himself  and  the  bettering  of  his  life  as  an 
end  to  himself  — but  it  is  only  in  the  intercourse  of  men,  each 


744 


THOMAS  HILL  GREEN 


recognised  by  each  as  an  end,  not  merely  a means,  and  thus  as 
having  reciprocal  claims,  that  the  capacity  is  actualised  and  that 
we  really  live  as  persons.  If  society  then  (as  thus  appears)  is 
the  condition  of  all  development  of  our  personality,  and  if  the 
necessities  of  social  life,  as  alone  we  know  or  can  conceive  it,  put 
limits  to  our  personal  development,  can  we  suppose  it  to  be  in 
persons  that  the  spirit  operative  in  men  finds  its  full  expression 
and  realisation? 

It  is  from  this  difficulty  that  we  are  apt  to  seek  an  escape  by 
speaking  as  if  the  human  spirit  fulfilled  its  idea  in  the  history  or 
development  of  mankind,  as  distinct  from  the  persons  whose 
experiences  constitute  that  history,  or  who  are  developed  in  that 
development;  whether  in  the  achievements  of  great  nations  at 
special  epochs  of  their  history,  or  in  some  progress  towards  a 
perfect  organisation  of  society,  of  which  the  windings  and  back- 
currents  are  too  complex  for  it  to  be  surveyed  by  us  as  a whole. 
But  that  we  are  only  disguising  the  difficulty,  not  escaping  it, 
by  this  manner  of  speech,  we  shall  see  upon  reflecting  that  there 
can  be  nothing  in  a nation  however  exalted  its  mission,  or  in 
a society  however  perfectly  organised,  which  is  not  in  the  persons 
composing  the  nation  or  the  society.  Our  ultimate  standard  of 
worth  is  an  ideal  of  personal  worth.  All  other  values  are  rela- 
tive to  value  for,  of,  or  in  a person.  To  speak  of  any  progress  or 
improvement  or  development  of  a nation  or  society  or  mankind, 
except  as  relative  to  some  greater  worth  of  persons,  is  to  use  words 
without  meaning.  The  saying  that  “a  nation  is  merely  an  ag- 
gregate of  individuals”  is  indeed  fallacious,  but  mainly  on  ac- 
count of  the  introduction  of  the  emphatic  “merely.”  The  fallacy 
lies  in  the  implication  that  the  individuals  could  be  what  they 
are,  could  have  their  moral  and  spiritual  qualities,  independently 
of  their  existence  in  a nation.  The  notion  is  conveyed  that  they 
bring  those  qualities  with  them  ready-made  into  the  national 
existence,  which  thereupon  results  from  their  combination;  while 
the  truth  is  that,  whatever  moral  capacity  must  be  presupposed, 
it  is  only  actualised  through  the  habits,  institutions,  and  laws, 
in  virtue  of  which  the  individuals  form  a nation.  But  it  is 
none  the  less  true  that  the  life  of  the  nation  has  no  real  existence 


PROLEGOMENA  TO  ETHICS 


745 


except  as  the  life  of  the  individuals  composing  the  nation,  a life 
determined  by  their  intercourse  with  each  other,  and  deriving 
its  peculiar  features  from  the  conditions  of  that  intercourse. 

Nor,  unless  we  allow  ourselves  to  play  fast  and  loose  with  the 
terms  “spirit”  and  “will,”  can  we  suppose  a national  spirit  and 
will  to  exist  except  as  the  spirit  and  will  of  individuals,  affected 
in  a certain  way  by  intercourse  with  each  other  and  by  the  history 
of  the  nation.  Since  it  is  only  through  its  existence  as  our  self- 
consciousness  that  we  know  anything  of  spirit  at  all,  to  hold  that 
a spirit  can  exist  except  as  a self-conscious  subject  is  self-con- 
tradictory. A “national  spirit”  is  not  something  in  the  air;  nor 
is  it  a series  of  phenomena  of  a particular  kind ; nor  yet  is  it  God 
— the  eternal  Spirit  or  self-conscious  subject  which  communi- 
cates itself,  in  measure  and  under  conditions,  to  beings  which 
through  that  communication  become  spiritual.  It  would  seem 
that  it  could  only  mean  one  of  two  things ; either  (a)  some  type  of 
personal  character,  as  at  any  time  exhibited  by  individuals  who 
are  held  together  and  personally  modified  by  national  ties  and 
interests  which  they  recognise  as  such;  or  {h)  such  a type  of 
personal  character  as  we  may  suppose  should  result,  according 
to  the  divine  idea  of  the  world,  from  the  intercourse  of  individ- 
uals with  each  other  under  the  influence  of  the  common  institu- 
tions which  make  a particular  nation,  whether  that  type  of  char- 
acter is  actually  attained  or  no.  At  any' rate,  if  a “ national  spirit  ” 
is  held  to  be  a form  in  which  an  eternal  Spirit,  in  the  only  sense 
in  which  we  have  reason  to  think  there  is  such  a thing,  realises 
itself,  then  it  can  only  have  its  being  in  persons,  though  in  per- 
sons, of  course,  specially  modified  by  the  special  conditions  of 
their  intercourse  with  each  other.  The  degree  of  perfection,  of 
realisation  of  their  possibilities,  attained  by  these  persons  is  the 
measure  of  the  fulfilment  which  the  idea  of  the  human  spirit 
attains  in  the  particular  national  spirit.  If  the  fulfilment  of 
the  idea  is  necessarily  incomplete  in  them,  it  can  be  no  more 
complete  in  the  national  spirit,  which  has  no  other  existence,  as 
national,  than  that  which  it  has  in  them. 

A like  criticism  must  apply  to  any  supposition  that  the  spirit 
which  is  in  man  could  fulfil  its  capability  — the  capability  which 


THOMAS  HILL  GREEN 


746 

belongs  to  it  as  a self-realisation  of  the  eternal  mind  through  the 
medium  of  an  animal  soul  — in  some  history  of  mankind  or 
some  organisation  of  society,  except  in  respect  of  a state  of  per- 
sonal being  attained  by  the  individuals  who  are  subjects  of  the 
history  or  members  of  the  society.  It  does  not  appear  how  any 
idea  should  express  or  realise  itself  in  an  endless  series  of  events, 
unless  the  series  is  relative  to  something  beyond  itself,  which 
abides  while  it  passes;  and  such  a mere  endless  series  the  history 
of  mankind  must  be,  except  so  far  as  its  results  are  gathered  intO' 
the  formation  of  the  character  of  abiding  persons.  At  any  rate, 
the  idea  of  a spirit  cannot  realise  itself  except  in  spirits.  The 
human  spirit  cannot  develop  itself  according  to  its  idea  except 
in  self-conscious  subjects,  whose  possession  of  the  qualities  — all 
implying  self-consciousness  — that  are  proper  to  such  a spirit, 
in  measures  gradually  approximating  to  the  realisation  of  the 
idea,  forms  its  development.  The  spiritual  progress  of  mankind 
is  thus  an  unmeaning  phrase,  unless  it  means  a progress  0/ per- 
sonal character  and  to  personal  character  — a progress  of  which 
feeling,  thinking,  and  willing  subjects  are  the  agents  and  sus- 
tainers,  and  of  which  each  step  is  a fuller  realisation  of  the 
capacities  of  such  subjects.  It  is  simply  unintelligible  unless 
understood  to  be  in  the  direction  of  more  perfect  forms  of  per- 
sonal life. 

There  may  be  reason  to  hold  that  there  are  capacities  of  the 
human  spirit  not  realisable  in  persons  under  the  conditions  of 
any  society  that  we  know,  or  can  positively  conceive,  or  that  may 
be  capable  of  existing  on  the  earth.  Such  a belief  may  be  war- 
ranted by  the  consideration  on  the  one  hand  of  the  promise 
which  the  spirit  gives  of  itself,  both  in  its  actual  occasional 
achievement  and  in  the  aspirations  of  which  we  are  individually 
conscious,  on  the  other  hand  of  the  limitations  which  the  neces- 
sity of  confinement  to  a particular  social  function  seems  to  impose 
on  individual  attainment.  We  may  in  consequence  justify  the 
supposition  that  the  personal  life,  which  historically  or  on  earth 
is  lived  under  conditions  which  thwart  its  development,  is  con- 
tinued in  a society,  with  which  we  have  no  means  of  communi- 
cation through  the  senses,  but  which  shares  in  and  carries  fur- 


PROLEGOMENA  TO  ETHICS 


747 


ther  every  measure  of  perfection  attained  by  men  under  the 
conditions  of  life  that  we  know.  Or  we  may  content  ourselves 
with  saying  that  the  personal  self-conscious  being,  which  comes 
from  God,  is  forever  continued  in  God.  Or  we  may  pronounce 
the  problem  suggested  by  the  constant  spectacle  of  unfulfilled 
human  promise  to  be  simply  insoluble.  But  meanwhile  the  nega- 
tive assurance  at  any  rate  must  remain,  that  a capacity,  which  is 
nothing  except  as  personal,  cannot  be  realised  in  any  impersonal 
modes  of  being. 

It  is  not,  of  course,  to  be  denied  that  the  facts  of  human  life 
and  history  put  abundant  difficulties  in  the  way  of  any  theory 
whatever  of  human  development,  as  from  the  less  to  the  more 
perfect  kind  of  life,  in  distinction  from  mere  generalisations  as  to 
the  nature  of  the  changes  which  society  has  undergone.  If  it 
were  not  for  certain  demands  of  the  spirit  which  is  ourself,  the 
notion  of  human  progress  could  never  occur  to  us.  But  these 
demands,  having  a common  ground  with  the  apprehension  of 
facts,  are  not  to  be  suppressed  by  it.  They  are  an  expression  of 
the  same  principle  of  self-objectification  without  which,  as  we 
have  seen,  there  could  be  no  such  thing  as  facts  for  us,  for 
our  consciousness,  at  all.  Their  strength  is  illustrated  by  the 
persistency  with  which,  in  spite  of  the  rebuff  they  forever  seem 
to  be  receiving  from  observations  of  nature  and  history,  they 
forever  reassert  themselves.  It  is  the  consciousness  of  possibili- 
ties in  ourselves,  unrealised  but  constantly  in  process  of  realisa- 
tion, that  alone  enables  us  to  read  the  idea  of  development  into 
what  we  observe  of  natural  life,  and  to  conceive  that  there  must 
be  such  a thing  as  a plan  of  the  world.  That  we  can  adjust  all 
that  we  observe  to  this  idea  is  plainly  not  the  case.  When  we 
have  traced  processes  of  development  in  particular  regions  of 
organic  life,  we  are  scarcely  nearer  the  goal.  For,  in  order  to 
satisfy  the  idea  which  sets  us  upon  the  search  for  development, 
we  should  be  able  to  connect  all  particular  processes  of  develop- 
ment with  each  other,  the  lower  as  subservient  to  the  higher,  and 
to  view  the  world,  including  human  history,  as  a whole  through- 
out which  there  is  a concerted  fulfilment  of  capabilities.  This 
we  cannot  do;  but  neither  our  inability  to  do  it,  nor  the  appear. 


THOMAS  HILL  GREEN 


748 

ance  of  positive  inconsistency  between  much  that  we  observe  and 
any  scheme  of  universal  development,  can  weaken  the  authority 
of  the  idea,  which  does  not  rest  on  the  evidence  of  observation, 
but  expresses  an  inward  demand  for  the  recognition  of  a unity  in 
the  world  answering  to  the  unity  of  ourselves  — a demand  in- 
volved in  that  self-consciousness  which,  as  we  have  seen,  alone 
enables  us  to  observe  facts  as  such.  The  important  thing  is  that 
we  should  not,  in  eagerness  to  reconcile  the  idea  of  development 
with  facts  known  only  bit  by  bit  and  not  in  their  real  integrity, 
lose  sight  of  the  essential  implications  of  the  idea  itself. 

Of  these  implications  one  is  the  eternal  realisation  for,  or  in, 
the  eternal  mind  of  the  capacities  gradually  realised  in  time. 
Another  is  that  the  end  of  the  process  of  development  should  be 
a real  fulfilment  of  the  capacities  presupposed  by  the  process. 
When  we  speak  of  any  subject  as  in  process  of  development  ac- 
cording to  some  law,  we  must  mean,  if  we  so  speak  advisedly, 
that  that  into  which  the  subject  is  being  developed  already  exists 
for  some  consciousness.  We  express  the  same  thing  by  saying 
that  the  subject  is  something,  in  itself  or  potentially,  which  it 
has  not  yet  in  time  actually  become;  and  this  again  implies  that 
in  relation  to  some  conscious  being  it  is  eternally  that  which 
in  some  other  relation  it  is  in  time  coming  to  be.  A state  of  life 
or  consciousness  not  yet  attained  by  a subject  capable  of  it,  in 
relation  to  that  subject  we  say  actually  is  not;  but  if  there  were  no 
consciousness  for  which  it  existed,  there  would  be  no  sense  in 
saying  that  in  possibility  it  is,  for  it  would  simply  be  nothing  at 
all.  Thus,  when  we  speak  of  the  human  spirit  being  in  itself,  or 
in  possibility,  something  which  is  not  yet  realised  in  human 
experience,  we  mean  that  there  is  a consciousness  for  and  in 
which  this  something  really  exists,  though,  on  the  other  hand,  for 
the  consciousness  which  constitutes  human  experience  it  exists 
only  in  possibility. 

It  would  not  be  enough  to  say  “a  consciousness  for  which  it 
really  exists.”  That  might  merely  mean  that  this  undeveloped 
capability  of  the  human  spirit  existed  as  an  object  of  conscious- 
ness to  the  eternal  mind,  in  the  same  way  in  which  facts  that  I 
contemplate  exist  for  me.  Such  a statement  would  suffice,  were 


PROLEGOMENA  TO  ETHICS 


749 


the  subject  of  development  merely  a natural  organism.  But 
when  that  which  is  being  developed  is  itself  a self-conscious  sub- 
ject, the  end  of  its  becoming  must  really  exist  not  merely  for, 
but  in  or  as,  a self-conscious  subject.  There  must  be  eternally 
such  a subject  which  is  all  that  the  self-conscious  subject,  as 
developed  in  time,  has  the  possibility  of  becoming;  in  which  the 
idea  of  the  human  spirit,  or  all  that  it  has  in  itself  to  become,  is 
completely  realised.  This  consideration  may  suggest  the  true 
notion  of  the  spiritual  relation  in  which  we  stand  to  God;  that 
He  is  not  merely  a Being  who  has  made  us,  in  the  sense  that  we 
exist  as  an  object  of  the  divine  consciousness  in  the  same  way  in 
which  we  must  suppose  the  system  of  nature  so  to  exist,  but  that 
He  is  a Being  in  whom  we  exist ; with  whom  we  are  in  principle 
one;  with  whom  the  human  spirit  is  identical,  in  the  sense  that 
He  is  all  which  the  human  spirit  is  capable  of  becoming. 

In  regard  to  the  other  principle  which  we  have  noticed  as 
implied  in  the  idea  of  development  — that  the  end  of  the  pro- 
cess of  development  should  be  a real  fulfilment  of  the  capacities 
pre-supposed  by  the  process  — it  may  be  argued  that,  however 
indisputable,  it  can  afford  us  little  guidance  in  judging  of  the 
ultimate  end  to  which  any  process  of  development  is  tending. 
In  cases  where  end  or  function  are  matter  of  observation,  and 
capacity  or  faculty  are  inferred  from  them,  it  has  no  application ; 
and  if  it  is  to  be  available  in  other  cases,  we  must  have  some 
means  of  ascertaining  the  nature  of  capacities,  independently  of 
observation  of  the  ends  to  which  they  are  relative.  But  have  we 
any  such  means?  And  in  their  absence,  since  the  ultimate  end 
of  human  progress  must  be  beyond  the  reach  of  observation,  are 
not  our  conclusions  as  to  capacities  of  men  which  must  be  ful- 
filled in  the  course  of  human  development  mere  arbitrary  guess- 
work ? May  it  not  turn  out  that  what  we  have  been  regarding 
as  permanent  capacities  of  men,  from  which  something  might  be 
inferred  as  to  the  end  of  human  development,  on  the  ground  that 
this  end  must  be  such  as  really  to  fulfil  them,  are  temporary 
phases  of  some  unknown  force,  working  in  we  know  not  what 
direction,  and  that  their  end  may  be  simply  to  disappear,  having 
borne  their  part  in  the  generation  of  an  rmknowable  future  ? 


750 


THOMAS  HILL  GREEN 


To  such  questions  we  should  reply  as  follows:  We  must  be 
on  our  guard  against  lapsing  into  the  notion  that  a process  ad 
infinitum,  a process  not  relative  to  an  end,  can  be  a process  of 
development  at  all.  If  the  history  of  mankind  were  simply  a 
history  of  events,  of  which  each  determines  the  next  following, 
and  so  on  in  endless  series,  there  would  be  no  progress  or  devel- 
opment in  it.  As  we  cannot  sum  an  infinite  series,  there  would 
be  nothing  in  the  history  of  mankind,  so  conceived,  to  satisfy 
that  demand  for  unity  of  the  manifold  in  relation  to  an  end, 
which  alone  leads  us  to  read  the  idea  of  development  into  the 
course  of  human  affairs.  If  there  is  a progress  in  the  history  of 
men,  it  must  be  towards  an  end  consisting  in  a state  of  being 
which  is  not  itself  a series  in  time,  but  is  both  comprehended 
eternally  in  the  eternal  mind  and  is  intrinsically,  or  in  itself, 
eternal.  Further : although  any  other  capacity  may  be  of  a kind 
which,  having  done  its  work  in  contributing  to  the  attainment  of 
such  a state  of  being,  passes  away  in  the  process  of  its  attainment 
— as  the  particular  capacities  of  myriads  of  animals,  their  func- 
tion fulfilled,  pass  away  every  hour  — yet  a capacity  consisting 
in  a self-conscious  personality  cannot  be  supposed  so  to  pass 
away.  It  partakes  of  the  nature  of  the  eternal.  It  is  not  itself  a 
series  in  time;  for  the  series  of  time  exists  for  it.  We  cannot  be- 
lieve in  there  being  a real  fulfilment  of  such  a capacity  in  an  end 
which  should  involve  its  extinction,  because  the  conviction  of 
there  being  an  end  in  which  our  capacities  are  fulfilled  is  founded 
on  our  self-conscious  personality  — on  the  idea  of  an  absolute 
value  in  a spirit  which  we  ourselves  are.  And  for  the  same  reason 
we  cannot  believe  that  the  capacities  of  men  — capacities  illus- 
trated to  us  by  the  actual  institutions  of  society,  though  they  could 
not  be  so  illustrated  if  we  had  not  an  independent  idea  of  them  — 
can  be  really  fulfilled  in  a state  of  things  in  which  any  rational 
man  should  be  treated  merely  as  a means,  and  not  as  in  himself 
an  end.  On  the  whole,  our  conclusion  must  be  that,  great  as  are 
the  difficulties  which  beset  the  idea  of  human  development  when 
applied  to  the  facts  of  life,  we  do  not  escape  them,  but  empty  the 
idea  of  any  real  meaning,  if  we  suppose  the  end  of  the  develop- 
ment to  be  one  in  the  attainment  of  which  persons  — agents  who 


PROLEGOMENA  TO  ETHICS 


751 


are  ends  to  themselves  — are  extinguished,  or  one  which  is  other 
than  a state  of  self-conscious  being,  or  one  in  which  that  recon- 
ciliation of  the  claims  of  persons,  as  each  at  once  a means  to  the 
good  of  the  other  and  an  end  to  himself,  already  partially 
achieved  in  the  higher  forms  of  human  society,  is  otherwise  than 
completed. 

Meanw'hile,  as  must  constantly  be  borne  in  mind,  in  saying 
that  the  human  spirit  can  only  realise  itself,  that  the  divine  idea 
of  man  can  only  be  fulfilled,  in  and  through  persons,  we  are  not 
denying  but  affirming  that  the  realisation  and  fuljilment  can  only 
take  place  in  and  through  society.  Without  society,  no  persons : 
this  is  as  true  as  that  without  persons,  without  self-objectifying 
agents,  there  could  be  no  such  society  as  we  know.  Such  society 
is  founded  on  the  recognition  by  persons  of  each  other,  and  their 
interest  in  each  other,  as  persons,  i.  e.  as  beings  who  are  ends  to 
themselves,  who  are  consciously  determined  to  action  by  the 
conception  of  themselves,  as  that  for  the  sake  of  which  they  act. 
They  are  interested  in  each  other  as  persons  in  so  far  as  each, 
being  aware  that  another  presents  his  own  self-satisfaction  to 
himself  as  an  object,  finds  satisfaction  for  himself  in  procuring 
or  witnessing  the  self-satisfaction  of  the  other.  Society  is  founded 
on  such  mutual  interest,  in  the  sense  that  unless  it  were  operative, 
however  incapable  of  expressing  itself  in  abstract  formulae,  there 
would  be  nothing  to  lead  to  that  treatment  by  one  human  being 
of  another  as  an  end,  not  merely  a means,  on  which  society  even 
in  its  narrowest  and  most  primitive  forms  must  rest.  There 
would  be  nothing  to  countervail  the  tendency,  inherent  in  the 
self-asserting  and  self-seeking  subject,  to  make  every  object  he 
deals  with,  even  an  object  of  natural  affection,  a means  to  his  own 
gratification.  The  combination  of  men  as  to-ot  koX  o/xotoi  for  com- 
mon ends  would  be  impossible.  Thus  except  as  between  persons, 
each  recognising  the  other  as  an  end  in  himself  and  having  the 
will  to  treat  him  as  such,  there  can  be  no  society. 

But  the  converse  is  equally  true,  that  only  through  society,  in 
the  sense  explained,  is  personality  actualised.  Only  through 
society  is  any  one  enabled  to  give  that  effect  to  the  idea  of  himself 
as  the  object  of  his  actions,  to  the  idea  of  a possible  better  state 


752 


THOMAS  HILL  GREEN 


of  himself,  without  which  the  idea  would  remain  like  that  of 
space  to  a man  who  had  not  the  senses  either  of  sight  or  touch. 
Some  practical  recognition  of  personality  by  another,  of  an  “I” 
by  a “Thou”  and  a “Thou”  by  an  “I,”  is  necessary  to  any 
practical  consciousness  of  it,  to  any  such  consciousness  of  it  as 
can  express  itself  in  act.  On  the  origin  of  such  recognition  in  the 
past  we  speculate  in  vain.  To  whatever  primitive  groupings,  as 
a matter  of  history  or  of  imagination,  we  can  trace  our  actual 
society,  these  must  already  imply  it.  But  we  know  that  we,  who 
are  born  under  an  established  system  of  family  ties,  and  of  recip- 
rocal rights  and  obligations  sanctioned  by  the  state,  learn  to 
regard  ourselves  as  persons  among  other  persons  because  we  are 
treated  as  such.  From  the  dawn  of  intelligence  we  are  treated, 
in  one  way  or  another,  as  entitled  to  have  a will  of  our  own,  to 
make  ourselves  the  objects  of  our  actions,  on  condition  of  our 
practically  recognising  the  same  title  in  others.  All  education 
goes  on  the  principle  that  we  are,  or  are  to  become,  persons  in 
this  sense.  And  just  as  it  is  through  the  action  of  society  that 
the  individual  comes  at  once  practically  to  conceive  his  person- 
ality — his  nature  as  an  object  to  himself  — and  to  conceive  the 
same  personality  as  belonging  to  others,  so  it  is  society  that  sup- 
plies all  the  higher  content  to  this  conception,  all  those  objects 
of  a man’s  personal  interest,  in  living  for  which  he  lives  for  his 
own  satisfaction,  except  such  as  are  derived  from  the  merely 
animal  nature. 

Thus  it  is  equally  true  that  the  human  spirit  can  only  realise 
itself,  or  fulfil  its  idea,  in  persons,  and  that  it  can  only  do  so 
through  society,  since  society  is  the  condition  of  the  development 
of  a personality.  But  the  function  of  society  being  the  develop- 
ment of  persons,  the  realisation  of  the  human  spirit  in  society 
can  only  be  attained  according  to  the  measure  in  which  that 
function  is  fulfilled.  It  does  not  follow  from  this  that  all  persons 
must  be  developed  in  the  same  way.  The  very  existence  of  man- 
kind presupposes  the  distinction  between  the  sexes;  and  as  there 
is  a necessary  difference  between  their  functions,  there  must  be 
a corresponding  difference  between  the  modes  in  which  the  per- 
sonality of  men  and  women  is  developed.  Again,  though  we; 


PROLEGOMENA  TO  ETHICS 


753 


must  avoid  following  the  example  of  philosophers  wTo  have 
shown  an  a priori  necessity  for  those  class-distinctions  of  their 
time  which  after-ages  have  dispensed  with,  it  would  certainly 
seem  as  if  distinctions  of  social  position  and  power  were  neces- 
sarily incidental  to  the  development  of  human  personality. 
There  cannot  be  this  development  without  a recognised  powder 
of  appropriating  material  things.  This  appropriation  must  vary 
in  its  effects  according  to  talent  and  opportunity,  and  from  that 
variation  again  must  result  differences  in  the  form  which  per- 
sonality takes  in  different  men.  Nor  does  it  appear  how  those 
reciprocal  services  which  elicit  the  feeling  of  mutual  dependence, 
and  thus  promote  the  recognition  by  one  man  of  another  as  an 
“alter  ego,”  would  be  possible  without  different  limitations  of 
function  and  ability,  which  determine  the  range  within  w'hich 
each  man’s  personality  develops,  in  other  words,  the  scope  of 
his  personal  interests. 

Thus,  under  any  conditions  possible,  so  far  as  can  be  seen, 
for  human  society,  one  man  who  was  the  best  that  his  position 
allow'ed,  would  be  very  different  from  another  who  was  the  best 
that  his  position  allowed.  But,  in  order  that  either  may  be  good 
at  all  in  the  moral  sense,  i.  e.  intrinsically  and  not  merely  as  a 
means  — in  order  that  the  idea  of  the  human  spirit  may  be  in 
any  sense  fulfilled  in  him  — the  fulfilment  of  that  idea  in  some 
form  or  other,  the  contribution  to  human  perfection  in  some  way 
or  other,  must  be  the  object  in  which  he  seeks  self-satisfac- 
tion, the  object  for  which  he  lives  in  living  for  himself.  And  it  is 
only  so  far  as  this  development  and  direction  of  personality  is 
obtained  for  all  wTo  are  capable  of  it  (as  presumably  every 
one  who  says  “I”  is  capable),  that  human  society,  either  in  its 
widest  comprehension  or  in  any  of  its  particular  groups,  can  be 
held  to  fulfil  its  function,  to  realise  its  idea  as  it  is  in  God. 


B.  The  Formal  Character  of  the  Moral  Ideal  or  Law 

Having  thus  endeavoured  to  explain  the  relation  in  which  the 
development  of  the  human  race  must  stand  to  the  personal  per- 
fection of  individuals,  we  return  to  the  problem  which  was  post- 


754 


THOMAS  HILL  GREEN 


poned  to  make  way  for  that  explanation.  We  have  seen  how 
there  is  a real  identity  between  the  end  for  which  the  good  man 
consciously  lives  — the  end  of  fulfilling  in  some  way  his  rational 
capacity,  or  the  idea  of  a best  that  is  in  him  — and  the  end  to 
which  human  development,  if  there  is  such  a thing,  must  be 
eternally  relative  in  the  eternal  mind.  It  may  be  no  more  than 
such  an  identity  as  there  is  between  the  mere  consciousness  that 
there  is  an  object  and  the  consciousness  what  the  object  is.  More 
precisely,  it  may  be  no  more  than  the  identity  between  the  idea 
that  a man  has,  in  virtue  of  his  rational  capacity,  of  something, 
he  knows  not  what,  which  he  may  and  should  become,  and  the 
idea,  perfectly  articulated  and  defined  in  the  divine  conscious- 
ness, of  a state  of  being  in  which  the  capacities  of  all  men  are 
fully  realised.  But  the  idea  as  it  is  in  the  individual  man,  how- 
ever indefinite  and  unfulfilled,  is  a communication  in  germ  or 
principle  of  the  idea  as  it  is  in  God,  and  the  communication  is 
the  medium  through  which  the  idea  as  in  God  determines  the 
progressive  development  of  human  capacities  in  time.  Alike  as 
in  God,  as  communicated  in  principle  to  men,  and  as  realising 
itself  by  means  of  that  communication  in  a certain  development 
of  human  capacities,  the  idea  can  have  its  being  only  in  a per- 
sonal, i.  e.  a self-objectifying,  consciousness.  From  the  mere  idea 
in  a man,  however,  “of  something,  he  knows  not  what,  which  he 
may  and  should  become,”  to  the  actual  practice  which  is  counted 
morally  good,  it  may  naturally  seem  a long  step.  We  have  there- 
fore to  explain  in  further  detail  how  such  an  idea,  gradually 
taking  form  and  definiteness,  has  been  the  moralising  agent  in 
human  life,  yielding  our  moral  standards  and  inducing  obedience 
to  them. 

Supposing  such  an  idea  to  be  operative  in  man,  what  must  be 
the  manner  of  its  operation?  It  will  keep  before  him  an  object, 
which  he  presents  to  himself  as  absolutely  desirable,  but  which 
is  other  than  any  particular  object  of  desire.  Of  this  object  it  can 
never  be  possible  for  him  to  give  a sufficient  account,  because  it 
consists  in  the  realisation  of  capabilities  which  can  only  be  fully 
known  in  their  ultimate  realisation.  At  the  same  time,  because 
it  is  the  fulfilment  of  himself,  of  that  which  he  has  in  him  to  be, 


PROLEGOMENA  TO  ETHICS 


755 


it  will  excite  an  interest  in  him  like  no  other  interest,  different  in 
kind  front  any  of  his  desires  and  aversions  except  such  as  are 
derived  from  it.  It  will  be  an  interest  as  in  an  object  conceived 
to  be  of  unconditional  value;  one  of  which  the  value  does  not  de- 
pend on  any  desire  that  the  individual  may  at  any  time  feel  for  it 
or  for  anything  else,  or  on  any  pleasure  that,  either  in  its  pursuit 
or  in  its  attainment  or  as  its  result,  he  may  experience.  The  con- 
ception of  its  desirableness  will  not  arise,  like  the  conception 
of  the  desirableness  of  any  pleasure,  from  previous  enjoyment 
of  it  or  from  reflection  on  the  desire  for  it.  On  the  contrary, 
the  desire  for  the  object  will  be  founded  on  a conception  of  its 
desirableness  as  a fulfilment  of  the  capabilities  of  which  a man 
is  conscious  in  being  conscious  of  himself. 

In  such  men  and  at  such  times  as  a desire  for  it  does  actually 
arise  — a desire  in  that  sense  which  implies  that  the  man  puts 
himself  forth  for  the  realisation  of  the  desired  object  — it  will 
express  itself  in  their  imposition  on  themselves  of  rules  requiring 
something  to  be  done  irrespectively  of  any  inclination  to  do  it, 
irrespectively  of  any  desired  end  to  which  it  is  a means,  other 
than  this  end,  which  is  desired  because  conceived  as  absolutely 
desirable.  With  the  men  in  whom,  and  at  the  times  when,  there 
is  no  such  desire,  the  consciousness  of  there  being  something 
absolutely  desirable  will  still  be  a qualifying  element  in  life.  It 
will  yield  a recognition  of  those  unconditional  rules  of  conduct 
to  which,  from  the  prevalence  of  unconformable  passions,  it  fails 
to  produce  actual  obedience.  It  will  give  meaning  to  the  demand, 
without  which  there  is  no  morality  and  in  which  all  morality 
is  virtually  involved,  that  “something  be  done  merely  for  the 
sake  of  its  being  done,”  ^ because  it  is  a consciousness  of  the 
possibility  of  an  action  in  which  no  desire  shall  be  gratified 
but  the  desire  excited  by  the  idea  of  the  act  itself,  as  of  some- 
thing absolutely  desirable  in  the  sense  that  in  it  the  man  does 
the  best  that  he  has  in  him  to  do. 

But,  granted  the  conception  of  an  unconditional  good  for  man, 

‘ So  gewiss  der  Mensch  ein  Mensch  ist,  so  gewiss  aussert  sich  in  ihm  eine 
Zunothigung,  einiges  ganz  unabhangig  von  ausseren  Zwecken  zu  thun  lediglich 
damit  es  geschehe,  und  andres  eben  so  zu  unterlassen  lediglich  damit  es  unter- 
bleibe.  — J.  G.  Fichte. 


THOMAS  HILL  GREEN 


756 

with  unconditional  rules  of  conduct  which  it  suggests,  what  in 
particular  will  those  rules  enjoin  ? We  have  said  that  man  can 
never  give  sufficient  account  of  what  his  unconditional  good 
is,  because  he  cannot  know  what  his  capabilities  are  till  they  are 
realised.  This  is  the  explanation  of  the  infirmity  that  has  al- 
ways been  found  to  attach  to  attempted  definitions  of  the  moral 
ideal.  They  are  always  open  to  the  charge  that  there  is  employed 
in  the  definition,  openly  or  disguisedly,  the  very  notion  which 
profession  is  made  of  defining.  If,  on  being  asked  for  an  account 
of  the  unconditional  good,  we  answer  either  that  it  is  the  good 
will  or  that  to  which  the  good  will  is  directed,  we  are  naturally 
asked  further,  what  then  is  the  good  will?  And  if  in  answer  to 
this  question  we  can  only  say  that  it  is  the  will  for  the  uncon- 
ditional good,  we  are  no  less  naturally  charged  with  “moving 
in  a circle.”  We  do  but  slightly  disguise  the  circular  process 
without  escaping  from  it  if,  instead  of  saying  directly  that  the 
good  will  is  the  will  for  the  unconditional  good,  we  say  that  it 
is  the  will  to  conform  to  a universal  law  for  its  own  sake  or  be- 
cause it  is  conceived  as  a universal  law;  for  the  recognition  of 
the  authority  of  such  a universal  law  must-be  founded  on  the 
conception  of  its  relation  to  an  unconditional  good. 

It  is  one  of  the  attractions  of  Hedonistic  Utilitarianism  that 
it  seems  to  avoid  this  logical  embarrassment.  If  we  say  that  the 
unconditional  good  is  pleasure,  and  that  the  good  will  is  that 
which  in  its  effects  turns  out  to  produce  most  pleasure  on  the 
whole,  we  are  certainly  not  chargeable  with  assuming  in  either 
definition  the  idea  to  be  defined.  We  are  not  at  once  explaining 
the  unconditional  good  by  reference  to  the  good  will,  and  the 
good  will  by  reference  to  the  unconditional  good.  But  we  only 
avoid  doing  so  by  taking  the  good  will  to  be  relative  to  some- 
thing external  to  itself;  to  have  its  value  only  as  a means  to  an 
end  wholly  alien  to,  and  different  from,  goodness  itself.  Upon 
this  view  the  perfect  man  would  not  be  an  end  in  himself;  a 
perfect  society  of  men  would  not  be  an  end  in  itself.  Man  or 
society  would  alike  be  only  perfect  in  relation  to  the  production 
of  feelings  which  are  felt,  with  whatever  differences  of  quantity, 
by  good  men  and  bad,  by  man  and  brute,  indifferently.  By  such 


PROLEGOMENA  TO  ETHICS 


757 


a theory  we  do  not  avoid  the  logical  embarrassment  attending 
the  definition  of  a moral  ideal;  for  it  is  not  a moral  ideal,  in  the 
sense  naturally  attached  to  that  phrase,  that  we  are  defining  at 
all.  By  a moral  ideal  we  mean  some  type  of  man  or  character  or 
personal  activity,  considered  as  an  end  in  itself.  But,  according 
to  the  theory  of  Hedonistic  Utilitarianism,  no  such  type  of  man 
or  character  or  personal  activity  is  an  end  in  itself  at  all. 

It  may  not  follow  that  the  theory  is  false  on  this  account.' 
That  is  a point  which  would  have  to  be  considered  in  a full 
critical  discussion  of  Hedonism.  What  has  to  be  noticed  here  is 
that  such  a theory  is  not  available  for  our  purpose.  It  affords 
no  help  when  once  we  have  convinced  ourselves  that  man  can 
only  be  an  end  to  himself ; that  consequently  it  is  only  in  himself 
as  he  may  become,  in  a complete  realisation  of  what  he  has  it  in 
him  to  be,  in  his  perfect  character,  that  he  can  find  satisfaction; 
that  in  this  therefore  alone  can  lie  his  unconditional  good.  When 
we  are  seeking  for  a definition  of  the  moral  ideal  in  accordance 
with  this  view,  we  should  be  aware  what  we  are  about.  It  is  as 
well  to  confess  at  once  that,  when  we  are  giving  an  account  of 
an  agent  whose  development  is  governed  by  an  ideal  of  his  own 
perfection,  we  cannot  avoid  speaking  of  one  and  the  same  condi- 
tion of  will  alternately  as  means  and  as  end.  The  goodness  of  the 
will  of  man  as  a means  must  be  described  as  lying  in  direction 
to  that  same  goodness  as  an  end.  For  the  end  is  that  full  self- 
conscious  realisation  of  capabilities  to  which  the  means  lies  in 
the  self-conscious  exercise  of  the  same  capabilities  — an  exer- 
cise of  them  in  imperfect  realisation,  but  under  the  governing 
idea  of  the  desirability  of  their  fuller  realisation.  If  we  had 
knowledge  of  what  their  fuller  realisation  would  be,  we  might  so 
describe  it  as  to  distinguish  it  from  that  exercise  of  them  in  less 
complete  development  which  is  the  means  to  that  full  realisation. 
We  might  thus  distinguish  the  perfection  of  man  as  end  from 
his  goodness  as  means  to  the  end,  though  the  perfection  would 
be  in  principle  identical  with  the  goodness,  differing  from  it  only 
as  the  complete  from  the  incomplete.  But  we  have  no  such  know- 
ledge of  the  full  realisation.  We  know  it  only  according  to  the 
measure  of  what  we  have  so  far  done  or  are  doing  for  its  attain- 


THOMAS  HILL  GREEN 


758 

ment.  And  this  is  to  say  that  we  have  no  knowledge  of  the  per- 
fection of  man  as  the  unconditional  good,  but  that  which  we 
have  of  his  goodness  or  the  good  will,  in  the  form  which  it  has 
assumed  as  a means  to,  or  in  the  effort  after,  the  unconditional 
good;  a good  which  is  not  an  object  of  speculative  knowledge 
to  man,  but  of  which  the  idea  — the  conviction  of  there  being 
such  a thing  — is  the  influence  through  which  his  life  is  directed 
to  its  attainment. 

It  is  therefore  not  an  illogical  procedure,  because  it  is  the  only 
procedure  suited  to  the  matter  in  hand,  to  say  that  the  goodness 
of  man  lies  in  devotion  to  the  ideal  of  humanity,  and  then  that 
the  ideal  of  humanity  consists  in  the  goodness  of  man.  It  means 
that  such  an  ideal,  not  yet  realised  but  operating  as  a motive, 
already  constitutes  in  man  an  inchoate  form  of  that  life,  that 
perfect  development  of  himself,  of  which  the  completion  would 
be  the  realised  ideal  itself.  Now  in  relation  to  a nature  such  as 
ours,  having  other  impulses  than  those  which  draw  to  the  ideal, 
this  ideal  becomes,  in  Kant’s  language,  an  imperative,  and  a 
categorical  imperative.  It  will  command  something  to  be  done 
universally  and  unconditionally,  irrespectively  of  whether  there 
is  in  any  one,  at  any  time,  an  inclination  to  do  it.  But  when  we 
ask  ourselves  what  it  is  that  this  imperative  commands  to  be 
done,  we  are  met  with  just  the  same  difficulty  as  when  asked  to 
define  the  moral  ideal  or  the  unconditional  good.  We  can  only 
say  that  the  categorical  imperative  commands  us  to  obey  the 
categorical  imperative,  and  to  obey  it  for  its  own  sake.  If  — not 
merely  for  practical  purposes,  but  as  a matter  of  speculative 
certainty  — we  identify  its  injunction  with  any  particular  duty, 
circumstances  will  be  found  upon  which  the  bindingness  of  that 
duty  is  contingent,  and  the  too  hasty  identification  of  the  cate- 
gorical imperative  with  it  will  issue  in  a suspicion  that,  after  all, 
there  is  no  categorical  imperative,  no  absolute  duty,  at  all.  After 
the  explanations  just  given,  however,  we  need  not  shrink  from 
asserting  as  the  basis  of  morality  an  unconditional  duty,  which 
yet  is  not  a duty  to  do  anything  unconditionally  except  to  fulfil 
that  unconditional  duty.  It  is  the  duty  of  realising  an  ideal  which 
cannot  be  adequately  defined  till  it  is  realised,  and  which,  when 


PROLEGOMENA  TO  ETHICS 


759 


realised,  would  no  longer  present  itself  as  a source  of  duties, 
because  the  should  he  would  be  exchanged  for  the  is.  This  is 
the  unconditional  ground  of  those  particular  duties  to  do  or  to 
forbear  doing,  which  in  the  effort  of  the  social  man  to  realise  his 
ideal  have  so  far  come  to  be  recognised  as  binding,  but  which 
are  each  in  some  way  or  other  conditional,  because  relative  to 
particular  circumstances,  however  wide  the  range  of  circum- 
stances may  be  to  which  they  are  relative. 

At  the  same  time,  then,  that  the  categorical  imperative  can 
enjoin  nothing  without  liability  to  exception  but  disinterested 
obedience  to  itself,  it  will  have  no  lack  of  definite  content.  The 
particular  duties  which  it  enjoins  will  at  least  be  all  those  in  the 
practice  of  which,  according  to  the  hitherto  experience  of  men, 
some  progress  is  m.ade  towards  the  fulfilment  of  man’s  capabili- 
ties, or  some  condition  necessary  to  that  progress  is  satisfied.  We 
say  it  will  enjoin  these  at  least,  because  particular  duties  must 
be  constantly  arising  out  of  it  for  the  individual,  for  which 
no  formula  can  be  found  before  they  arise,  and  which  are  thus 
extraneous  to  the  recognised  code.  Every  one,  however,  of  the 
duties  which  the  law  of  the  state  or  the  law  of  opinion  recognises 
must  in  some  way  be  relative  to  circumstances.  The  rule  there- 
fore in  which  it  is  conveyed,  though  stated  in  the  most  general 
terms  compatible  with  real  significance,  must  still  admit  of  ex- 
ceptions. Yet  is  there  a true  sense  in  which  the  whole  system  of 
such  duties  is  unconditionally  binding.  It  is  so  as  an  expression 
of  the  absolute  imperative  to  seek  the  absolutely  desirable,  the 
ideal  of  humanity,  the  fulfilment  of  man’s  vocation.  Because 
an  expression  (though  an  incomplete  one)  of  this  absolute  im- 
perative, because  a product  of  the  effort  after  such  an  uncondi- 
tional good,  the  requirements  of  conventional  morality,  however 
liable  they  may  be  to  exceptions,  arising  out  of  circumstances 
other  than  those  to  which  they  are  properly  applicable,  are  at 
least  liable  to  no  exception  for  the  sake  of  the  individual’s  plea- 
sure. As  against  any  desire  but  some  form  or  other  of  that  desire 
for  the  best  in  conduct,  which  will,  no  doubt,  from  time  to  time 
suggest  new  duties  in  seeming  conflict  with  the  old  — against 
any  desire  for  this  or  that  pleasure,  or  any  aversion  from  this  or 
that  pain  — they  are  unconditionally  binding. 


JAMES  MARTINEAU 

( 1805-1900 ) 

TYPES  OF  ETHICAL  THEORY* 

Book  I.— IDIOPSYCHOLOGICAL  ETHICS 

CHAPTER  I.  FUNDAMENTAL  ETHICAL  FACT 

The  broad  fact,  stated  in  its  unanalysed  form,  of  which  we  have 
to  find  the  interpretation,  is  this : that,  distinctively  as  men,  we 
have  an  irresistible  tendency  to  approve  and  disapprove,  to  pass 
judgments  of  right  and  wrong.  Wherever  approbation  falls,  there 
we  cannot  help  recognising  merit : wherever  disapprobation,  de- 
merit. To  the  former  we  are  impelled  to  assign  honour  and  such 
external  good  as  may  express  our  sympathy,  and  to  feel  that  no 
less  than  this  is  due : to  the  latter  we  award  disgrace  and  such  ex- 
ternal ill  as  may  mark  our  antipathy,  with  the  consciousness  that 
we  are  not  only  entitled  but  constrained  to  this  infliction.  So 
Jiabihial  is  this  manner  of  thinking,  that  the  very  word  in  which 
we  sum  up  its  contents,  — the  word  Morals,  — means  habits,  cus- 
toms ; and  so  does  the  Greek  word  Ethics ; and  so  the  German, 
Sitten.  These  terms,  no  doubt,  might  be  accounted  for  in  either 
of  two  modes : as  expressing  simply  what  has  happened  to  become 
usage,  and  merely  on  that  account  is  valued  and  insisted  on  by 
us ; or,  as  expressing  that  which,  being  insisted  on  by  the  inner 
demand  of  human  nature,  is  exacted  from  us  all  and  made  into 
our  usage.  Between  these  opposite  orders  of  interpretation  we 
can  have  no  difficulty  in  deciding,  if  we  consider;  (i)  that  the 
customs  of  a race  can  never  be  treated  as  fortuitous  data,  out  of 
which,  as  already  there,  the  most  essential  characteristics  and 
affections  spring;  but  must  themselves  be  the  outward  product 
and  manifestation  of  the  inner  life,  and  give  the  most  accurate 
determination  of  its  form ; and  (2)  that,  as  if  in  protest  against  any 
identification  of  morality  with  mere  customariness,  the  words 

* Oxford,  Clarendon  Press,  1885;  2d  rev.  ed.  1886;  3d  rev.  ed.  1891. 


TYPES  OF  ETHICAL  THEORY  761 

which  begin  together  part  company  at  the  sight  of  customs  that 
are  immoral ; and  as  soon  as  the  evil  we  condemn  ceases  to  be 
exceptional,  — as  soon  as  we  encounter  the  shock  of  an  estab- 
lished wickedness,  — we  refuse  to  give  it  the  name  consecrated  to 
the  prior  usages,  and  condemn  it  as  an  offence.  Nor  is  it  to  our 
feeling  anything  less  than  monstrous  to  maintain,  that  what  we 
call  falsehood  or  selfishness  could,  by  any  multiplication  or  per- 
petuity, change  its  character,  and  in  becoming  usual,  become  also 
moral.  It  is,  therefore,  because  the  sentiments  of  right  and 
wrong  are  the  characteristics  of  human  nature,  that  the  system  of 
action  which  they  call  up  receives  the  name  of  Mores,  or  estab- 
lished ways. 

Language  is  the  great  confessional  of  the  human  heart,  and 
betrays,  by  its  abiding  record,  many  a natural  feeling  which  would 
escape  our  artificial  inspection ; and  it  is  better  worth  interrogat- 
ing than  the  mixed  product  of  our  spontaneous  life  and  conven- 
tional opinion.  And  the  fundamental  fact  to  which  we  are  refer- 
ring receives  further  light  from  another  class  of  terms,  in  which 
we  characterise  it  from  within  instead  of  from  without,  and  speak 
of  it  as  it  is  felt  in  itself,  rather  than  as  it  looks  in  its  effects.  As 
a spectator  of  men  on  a theatre  of  character,  I speak  of  their 
Morals ; as  an  agent,  uttering  the  corresponding  consciousness 
secreted  at  my  own  centre,  I speak  of  my  Duty.  The  word,  I need 
not  say,  expresses  that  there  is  something  which  is  due  from  me, 
— which  I owe,  — which  I ought  to  do.  Nor  perhaps  is  it  insig- 
nificant, that  the  tenses  of  this  verb  have  lost  their  distinction,  and 
one  alone,  and  that  the  past,  is  made  to  serve  for  all ; as  if  to  show 
that  obligation  escapes  the  conditions  of  time,  and  is  less  a phe- 
nomenon than  an  essential  and  eternal  reality,  which,  however 
manifested  at  the  moment,  is  not  new  to  it.  In  any  case,  the  word 
expresses  the  sense  we  have  of  a debt  which  others  have  a right 
to  demand  from  us,  and  which  we  are  bound  to  pay.  And  here  we 
have  another  term,  still  more  expressive  of  the  inward  feeling 
characteristic  of  a moral  being : there  is,  it  seems,  something  that 
binds,  — in  Latin,  obliges  us,  — puts  a restraint  on  the  direction 
of  our  will,  yet  not  an  outward  restraint  upon  its  power,  but  an 
interior  restraint  from  shame  and  reverence.  The  same  meaning 


762  JAMES  MARTINEAU 

may  be  found  in  all  the  language  of  law  and  ethics:  within,  a 
binding,  — without,  a rule  of  usage.  I am  aware  that  these  sub- 
jective words  denoting  obligation  might  be  explained  away,  by 
the  same  process  of  inversion  already  applied  to  the  notion  of 
customs.  It  might  be  said  that  men,  having  set  up  a usage,  en- 
force it  upon  each  separate  agent,  and  tie  him  down  to  its  observ- 
ance; and  that  this  external  necessity  put  upon  him  is  all  that 
the  word  Duty  originally  expressed.  The  question  involved  in 
this  evasion  must  be  reserved  for  future  treatment.  At  present  I 
will  only  remark  that  it  is  a mere  hypothetical  artifice,  to  explain 
the  individual’s  sense  of  inner  obligation  by  the  social  imposition 
of  an  outer  constraint ; that,  to  our  actual  consciousness,  the  au- 
thority of  duty  seems  to  be  independent  of  what  the  world  may 
say  of  us  or  do  to  us ; and  that  it  is  at  least  as  plausible  to  maintain, 
that  the  law  we  impose  on  others  is  the  externalisation  of  that 
which  overawes  ourselves,  as  vice  versa.  The  truth  is,  I appre- 
hend, that  both  factors,  the  felt  inner  binding  on  ourselves  and 
the  enacted  outer  restraint  upon  our  fellows,  are  parallel  and 
concurrent  expressions  of  the  same  nature;  neither  is  before  or 
after  the  other ; and  so  long  as  we  dispute  whether  it  is  the  indi- 
vidual constitution  that  makes  the  world,  or  the  world  that  makes 
the  individual  constitution,  the  controversy  will  spin  an  endless 
round.  The  action  and  reaction  are  infinite ; and  the  real  question 
is,  how  is  constituted,  and  with  what  inspiration  is  endowed,  that 
humanity  which  has  its  unity  and  completeness,  not  in  the  lonely 
mind,  but  only  in  the  individuals  of  a kind,  raised  by  their  whole 
system  of  relations  into  types  of  the  nature  which  they  represent  ? 

I.  Its  Contents  Developed 

§ I.  Objects  of  Moral  ‘Judgment 

With  a view  to  determine  the  precise  significance  of  this  general 
fact  let  us  notice,  in  the  first  place,  what  are  the  objects  on  which 
our  moral  judgment  directs  itself ; and  where,  on  the  other  hand, 
its  sphere  terminates.  What  is  it  that  we  judge  ? 

(i)  Self-evidently,  it  is  persons  exclusively,  and  not  things,  that 
we  approve  or  condemn.  The  mere  given  objects  of  nature,  or  the 


TYPES  OF  ETHICAL  THEORY  763 

fahricated  products  of  art,  — the  rock,  the  stream,  the  star;  or  the 
house,  the  ship,  the  lamp,  — are  perfectly  indifferent  to  the  con- 
science; and  though  they  may  become  the  centres  of  various 
feelings,  we  recognise  the  absurdity  of  applying  to  them  epithets 
distinctly  ethical.  If  ever  we  seem  to  invest  them  with  such  predi- 
cates, it  is  because  for  the  moment  we  look  beyond  their  simply 
physical  aspect,  and  regard  them  as  the  expression  of  some  Mind. 
If  the  rock  is  stern,  if  the  stream  is  joyous,  if  the  star  is  mild,  it  is 
because  the  inner  heart  of  nature  is  felt  to  speak  through  them, 
and  hold  communion  with  us ; and  only  in  proportion  as  we  lift 
the  external  world  into  this  personal  element,  can  such  language 
appear  justified.  Once  let  utter  negation  be  put  upon  this  personal 
element,  and  the  universe  appear  before  us  as  without  an  inner 
meaning,  as  a mere  play  of  fatalistic  forces,  and  this  phraseology 
loses  all  truth;  and  poetry,  to  whose  very  essence  it  belongs, 
becomes  as  much  the  indulgence  of  illusion  as  the  child’s  dia- 
logue with  her  dolls.  That  we  give  these  words  to  things,  and 
then  first  feel  their  true  nature  struck,  only  proves  how  ready  we 
are  to  refer  back  all  things  to  a personal  Being  behind  them.  It 
is  the  same,  only  yet  more  obviously,  when  we  attach  terms  of 
moral  judgment  to  the  products  of  art.  To  approve  a house,  to 
condemn  a ship,  is  to  pronounce  upon  a fitness  or  unfitness  for  a 
given  end ; and  whatever  semblance  of  moral  sentiment  the  words 
carry  is  directed  on  the  skill  and  faithfulness  of  the  human  pro- 
ducer or  possessor.  Even  admiration,  though  not  a simply  moral 
feeling,  always  requires  the  presence,  secret  or  open,  of  some 
living  mind  on  which  to  fasten ; and  though  often  addressing  itself 
to  the  outer  face  of  things,  is  really  moved  by  the  spirit  which  they 
seem  to  manifest.  What  else  means  the  memorable  parody  of 
Comte  on  the  Hebrew  hymn,  “The  heavens  declare  the  glory  of 
God,”  — viz.  that  the  only  glory  they  declare  is  that  of  Newton 
and  Laplace  ? i.  e.  the  heavens  themselves,  as  a physical  splen- 
dour and  infinitude,  have  nothing  glorious  to  say  to  us:  first 
when  brought  into  contact  with  some  mind,  have  they  significance 
to  move  us;  and  if  they  represent  to  us  no  prior  and  inner  mind 
whose  eternal  thoughts  they  hang  aloft,  they  must  wait  for  the 
genius  of  some  outward  observer  and  interpreter  ere  they  can  mean 


764  JAMES  MARTINEAU 

anything  sublime.  This  ingenuous  confession  of  the  great  "High 
Priest  of  Humanity”  agrees  precisely  with  the  principle  laid  down 
in  the  following  striking  passage  of  Friedrich  Heinrich  Jacobi: 
''Intending  Thought  it  is  that  makes  the  difference  between  a true 
God  and  Fate.  It  is  inseparable  from  Reason,  and  Reason  from 
it.  Nay,  it  is  identical  with  Mind ; and  only  to  the  expression  of 
Alind  do  the  feelings  answer  which  are  its  witness  in  ourselves,  — 
of  admiration,  reverence,  love.  We  may  indeed  pronounce  an 
object  beautiful  or  perfect  without  first  knowing  how  it  came 
about,  whether  with  foresight  or  not;  but  the  power  whereby  it 
came  about  we  cannot  admire,  if  its  product  has  been  set  up  with- 
out thought  and  intending  forecast,  in  virtue  of  mere  laws  of 
necessitating  Nature.  Even  the  glory  and  majesty  of  the  heavens 
which  bow  down  the  childlike  man  in  kneeling  worship,  no  longer 
subdue  the  scientific  soul  aware  of  the  mechanism  that  gives  and 
maintains  the  motion  of  these  bodies,  and  even  moulded  them  as 
they  are.  Whatever  wonder  he  feels  is  not  at  the  object  itself,  in- 
finite as  it  is,  but  only  at  the  human  intellect  which,  in  a Coperni- 
cus, Gassendi,  Kepler,  Newton,  Laplace,  has  been  able  to  plant 
itself  above  the  object,  to  kill  out  wonder  by  knowledge,  to  empty 
heaven  of  its  gods,  and  disenchant  the  universe.” 

“ But  even  this  admiration,  the  only  remnant  spared  to  the  sci- 
entific intelligence,  would  disappear,  if  some  future  Hartley,  Dar- 
win, Condillac,  or  Bonnet,  were  to  exhibit  to  us,  with  any  real 
success,  a mechanism  of  the  human  mind  as  comprehensive, 
reasonable,  and  luminous  as  the  Newtonian  mechanism  of  the 
heavens.  Art,  science  however  high,  virtue  of  any  kind,  we  could 
no  longer  treat  with  genuine  and  thoughtful  reverence,  no  longer 
look  up  to  as  sublime,  or  contemplate  with  adoring  homage.” 
‘‘We  might  still  indeed,  even  then,  be  sensibly  moved,  nay, 
stirred  with  an  emotion  amounting  to  rapture,  by  the  works  and 
deeds  of  the  heroes  of  mankind,  — the  life  of  a Socrates  and 
Epaminondas,  the  science  of  a Plato  and  Leibnitz,  the  poetical 
and  plastic  representations  of  a Homer,  Sophocles,  and  Phidias ; 
just  as  even  the  most  accomplished  pupil  of  a Newton  or  Laplace 
might  still  possibly  be  touched  and  stirred  with  pleasurable  emo- 
tion by  the  sensible  aspect  of  the  starry  heaven.  Only,  no  question 


TYPES  OF  ETHICAL  THEORY  765 

must  then  be  asked  about  the  rationale  of  such  emotion;  for 
Reflection  could  not  fail  to  answer,  ‘You  are  but  befooled  like 
a child;  when  will  you  learn  that  Wonder  is  only  and  always 
a daughter  of  Ignorance?”’  ’ 

Of  this  general  principle  we  need  at  present  but  one  of  the  nu- 
merous applications.  The  approbation  or  disapprobation  which 
we  feel  towards  human  actions  is  directed  upon  them  as  personal 
phenomena ; and  if  this  condition  failed,  would  disappear,  though 
they  might  still,  as  natural  causes,  be  instrumental  in  producing 
much  good  or  ill.  Their  moral  character  goes  forward  with  them 
out  of  the  person ; and  is  not  reflected  back  upon  them  from  their 
effects.  Benefit  and  mischief  are  in  themselves  wholly  charac- 
terless; and  we  neither  applaud  the  gold  mine,  nor  blame  the 
destructive  storm. 

(2)  It  follows,  that  what  we  judge  is  always  the  inner  spring 
of  an  action,  as  distinguished  from  its  outward  operation.  For, 
whatever  else  may  be  implied  in  its  being  a personal  phenomenon, 
this  at  least  is  involved,  that  it  is  issued  by  the  mind,  and  has  its 
dynamic  source  there ; and  on  that  source  it  is,  accordingly,  that 
our  verdict  is  pronounced.  This  is  expressly  admitted  by  Mr. 
Herbert  Spencer,  wLo  says:  “Every  moment  we  pass  instantly 
from  men’s  perceived  actions  to  the  motives  implied  by  them;  and 
so  are  led  to  formulate  these  actions  in  mental  terms  rather  than 
in  bodily  terms.  Thoughts  and  feelings  are  referred  to  wLen  we 
speak  of  any  one’s  deeds  with  praise  or  blame;  not  those  outer 
manifestations  which  reveal  the  thoughts  and  feelings.  Hence  w'e 
become  oblivious  of  the  truth  that  conduct,  as  actually  experi- 
enced, consists  of  changes  recognised  by  touch,  sight,  hearing.  ” ^ 

With  not  less  emphasis  does  Mr.  Leslie  Stephen  lay  dowm  the 
same  rule.  “The  clear  enunciation  of  one  principle,”  he  remarks, 
“seems  to  be  a characteristic  of  all  great  moral  revelations.  The 
recognition  amounts  almost  to  a discovery,  and  would  seem  to 
mark  the  point  at  which  the  moral  code  first  becomes  distinctly 
separated  from  other  codes.  It  may  be  briefly  expressed  in  the 
phrase  that  morality  is  internal.  The  moral  law,  we  may  say,  has 

‘ Jacobi’s  Werke,  vol.  ii.,  Vorrede,  pp.  51-55. 

* Data  oj  Ethics,  chap,  v.,  § 24,  p.  64. 


766  JAMES  MARTINEAU 

to  be  expressed  in  the  form,  “Be  this,”  not  in  the  form,  “Do  this.” 
The  possibility  of  expressing  any  rule  in  this  form  may  be  regarded 
as  deciding  whether  it  can  or  cannot  have  a distinctly  moral  char- 
acter T Again  he  says:  “A  genuine  moral  law  distinguishes 
classes  of  conduct,  not  according  to  external  circumstances,  but 
according  to  the  motives  involved;  and,  therefore,  when  the  con- 
formity to  the  law  is  only  external,  it  is  more  proper  to  say  that  it 
is  not  conformity  at  all.  ” ^ Yet  another  pregnant  sentence,  “ Vir- 
tue implies  a certain  organisation  of  the  instincts  f ^ assumes,  it  is 
evident,  the  Ethics  of  motive,  as  distinguished  from  the  Ethics  of 
action. 

From  moralists  of  a far  different  school  the  same  witness  comes : 
the  Hegelian  moralist,  Mr.  F.  H.  Bradley,  tells  us:  “Morality  has 
not  to  do  immediately  with  the  outer  results  of  the  Will” : “acts, 
so  far  as  they  spring  from  the  good  will,  are  good”  : “what  issues 
from  a good  character  must  likewise  be  morally  good.”  And,^ 
with  equal  distinctness.  Professor  Green  insists  that  “It  is  not  by 
the  outward  form  that  we  know  what  moral  action  is.  We  know 
it,  so  to  speak,  on  the  inner  side.  We  know  what  it  is  in  relation 
to  us,  the  agents;  what  it  is  as  our  expression.  Only  thus  indeed 
do  we  know  it  at  all.”  And  so  “ it  remains  that  self-reflection  is  the 
only  possible  method  of  learning  what  is  the  inner  man  or  mind 
that  our  action  expresses ; in  other  words,  what  that  action  really 
is.”  “ Without  it,”  he  adds,  “ the  customary  expressions  of  moral 
consciousness  in  use  among  men,”  and  “ the  institutions  in  which 
they  have  embodied  their  ideas  or  ideals  of  permanent  good,” 
would  be  unmeaning,  and  “have  nothing  to  tell.”  “ 

That  these  testimonies,  flowing  in  from  various  sides,  meet 
upon  a real  truth  is  evident  from  a very  simple  analysis.  The 
word  “ action  ” is  a word  of  complex  meaning,  taking  in  the  whole 
process  from  the  first  stir  of  origination  in  the  agent’s  mind  to  the 
last  pulsation  of  visible  effect  in  the  world.  James  Mill  is  fond 
of  laying  out  its  elements  into  three  stages : (i)  the  sentiments 

* L.  Stephen’s  Science  of  Ethics,  chap,  iv.,  § i6,  p.  155. 

' Ih.,  chap,  vi.,  § 13,  p.  277. 

’ /&.,  § 36,  p.  302. 

* F.  H.  Bradley’s  Ethical  Studies,  pp.  207,  208. 

® Prolegomena  to  Ethics,  Book  II.,  chap,  i.,  §§  93,  94,  95,  pp.  97>  98. 


TYPES  OF  ETHICAL  THEORY  767 

whence  it  springs;  (2)  the  muscular  movement  in  which  it  visibly 
consists ; (3)  the  consequences  in  which  it  issues.  Of  these,  cut 
off  the  first,  and  the  other  two  lose  all  their  moral  quality;  the 
muscular  movement  becomes  a spasm  or  sleep-walking ; the  con- 
sequences become  natural  phenomena,  pleasant  like  fine  weather, 
or  terrible  like  an  incursion  of  wild  beasts.  But  cut  off  the  other 
two,  and  in  reserving  the  first  alone,  you  save  the  moral  quality 
entire : though  paralysis  should  bar  the  passage  into  outer  realisa- 
tion, and  intercept  the  consequences  at  their  birth,  still  the  per- 
sonal record  contains  a new  act,  if  only  the  inner  mandate  has 
been  issued.  The  moment  which  completes  the  mental  antece- 
dents touches  the  character  with  a clearer  purity  or  a fresh  stain ; 
nor  can  any  hindrance,  by  simply  stopping  execution,  wipe  out 
the  light  or  shade : else  would  guilt  return  to  innocence  by  being 
frustrated,  and  goodness  go  for  nothing  when  it  strives  in  vain. 
This  principle  carries  its  own  evidence  with  it,  and  neither 
requires  nor  admits  of  further  proof.  Two  remarks  only  will 
I make  respecting  it:  (i)  It  is  a characteristic  of  the  Christian 
ethics,  and  finds  its  most  solemn  expression  in  the  Sermon  on  the 
Mount,  where  the  eye  of  lust  and  the  heart  of  hate  are  called  to 
account  with  the  adulterer  and  the  murderer;  and  reappears, 
though  lifted  into  a region  higher  than  the  ethical,  in  the  doctrine 
of  justification  by  faith,  which,  by  a simple  inward  affection  of 
the  soul,  establishes  reconciled  relations  between  the  broken  per- 
formances of  man  and  the  infinite  holiness  of  God.  (2)  It  is  di- 
rectly opposed  to  the  maxim,  that  the  only  value  of  good  affections 
is  for  the  production  of  good  actions : — a maxim  which  is  just  a 
rebuke  to  idle  and  barren  good  affections  as  compared  with  the 
healthy  and  fruitful,  but  which  becomes  monstrously  false  when  it 
demands  not  only  inward  creative  energy,  but  outward  oppor- 
tunity and  success,  and  treats  with  slight  even  an  intense  fidelity 
and  love,  because  its  field  of  life  is  small,  and  its  harvest  for  the 
world  is  scanty.  Instead  of  measuring  the  worth  of  goodness  by 
the  scale  of  its  external  benefits,  our  rule  requires  that  we  attach 
no  moral  value  to  these  benefits,  except  as  signs  and  exponents  of 
the  goodness  whence  they  spring ; and  graduate  our  approval  by 
the  purity  of  the  source,  not  by  the  magnitude  of  the  result.  Here, 


768  JAMES  MARTINEAU 

therefore,  we  touch  upon  an  essential  distinction  between  the 
Christian  and  the  Utilitarian  ethics;  and  confidently  claim  for 
the  former  the  verdict  of  our  moral  consciousness. 

§ 2.  Mode  of  Moral  judgment 

Next,  we  may  attend  to  the  mode  of  moral  judgment,  and  de- 
termine how  the  mind  proceeds  in  estimating  its  own  impulses 
and  volitions.  For,  process  of  some  kind  there  must  be:  every 
verdict  implies  preference ; every  preference,  comparison ; every 
comparison,  things  compared,  and  grounds  of  resemblance  and 
difference  between  them.  To  define  these  is  to  explain  our  mode 
of  judgment. 

(i)  The  one  great  condition  which  raises  the  spontaneous  into 
the  self-conscious  life  is  this : — the  simultaneous  presence  and 
collision  of  the  forces  which  check  and  exclude  each  other.  With- 
out the  encounter  of  bodies,  the  dream  of  mere  sensation  would 
not  wake  into  perception.  Without  the  answering  face  of  other 
men,  the  sense  of  personal  existence  would  remain  dim.  And 
without  the  appearance  in  us  of  two  incompatible  impulses  at 
once,  or  the  interruption  of  one  by  the  invasion  of  another,  the 
moral  self-consciousness  would  sleep.  It  is  not  difference  only  that 
suffices  to  produce  the  effect;  for  differences  might  coexist  among 
objects  side  by  side  in  the  space  before  us,  yet  would  they  never 
disengage  themselves  into  view,  did  they  not  break  their  stillness 
and  move  among  themselves;  and  living  impulses  might  suc- 
cessively occupy  us,  yet  would  they  never  become  objects  of  our  at- 
tention, did  each  one  spend  itself  and  fade  ere  the  next  appeared, 
so  that  we  were  picked  up  by  them  one  by  one,  and  caught  disen- 
gaged in  every  case.  From  this  state  we  are  rescued  by  perpetual 
“breach  of  the  peace”  within  our  nature,  and  the  clamour  of 
impatient  propensities  disputing  for  simultaneous  admission,  or 
prematurely  cutting  short  the  career  of  the  principle  in  possession. 
It  is  only  when  difference  amounts  to  strife,  that  it  completes  the 
passage  from  spontaneity  to  self-consciousness.  This  perhaps  is 
part  of  the  meaning  embraced  in  the  celebrated  proposition  of 
Heracleitus,  that  “strife  is  the  father  of  all  things”  : though  in  his 
doctrine,  that  nothing  could  arise  without  the  collision  of  oppo- 


TYPES  OF  ETHICAL  THEORY  769 

sites,  the  subjective  world  was  less  in  view  than  the  objective. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  the  maxim  has  a just  application  to  the  phe- 
nomena of  our  moral  life.  It  is  not  till  two  incompatible  impulses 
appear  in  our  consciousness  and  contest  the  field,  that  we  are 
made  aware  of  their  difference  and  are  driven  to  judge  between 
them.  But  the  moment  this  condition  is  realised,  we  are  sensible 
of  a contrast  between  them  other  than  that  of  mere  intensity  or  of 
qualitative  variety,  — not  analogous  to  the  difference  between 
loud  and  soft,  or  between  red  and  sour;  — but  requiring  quite  a 
separate  phraseology  for  its  expression,  such  as  this : that  one  is 
higher,  worthier,  than  the  other,  and,  in  comparison  with  it,  has 
the  clear  right  to  us.  This  apprehension  is  no  mediate  discovery 
of  ours,  of  which  we  can  give  an  account ; but  is  immediately 
inherent  in  the  very  experience  of  the  principles  themselves,  — 
a revelation  inseparable  from  their  appearance  side  by  side.  By 
simply  entering  the  stage  together  and  catching  the  inner  eye, 
they  disclose  their  respective  worth  and  credentials.  A child,  for 
example,  not  above  the  seductions  of  the  jam-closet,  finding  him- 
self alone  in  that  too  trying  place,  makes  hurried  inroads  upon 
the  sweetmeats  within  tempting  reach;  but  has  scarcely  sucked 
the  traces  from  his  fingers  before  he  is  ready  to  sink  into  the  earth 
with  compunction,  well  knowing  that  the  appetite  he  has  indulged 
is  meaner  than  the  integrity  he  has  violated.  A passionate  boy 
will  vent  his  impatience  on  any  inanimate  object  that  obstructs 
his  purpose,  splitting  his  unsuccessful  peg-tops,  or  breaking  his 
tangled  fishing-line ; and  will  accuse  himself  of  no  wrong.  But  let 
his  paroxysm  spend  itself  on  a sister,  and  send  her  wounded  and 
crying  away;  and  the  instant  remorse  brings  home  to  him  how 
much  higher  is  the  affection  he  has  slighted  than  the  resentment 
he  has  allowed.  The  thirsty  traveller  in  the  desert  would  seize, 
instinctively  and  without  a thought,  the  draught  from  the  spring 
he  has  found  at  last ; but  if  he  have  a companion  faint  and  dying 
of  the  fever,  he  knows  that  his  appetite  must  give  precedence  to 
his  compassion,  and  he  holds  the  cup  of  cold  water  first  to  an- 
other’s lips.  In  these  cases,  — and  they  appear  to  me  fair  repre- 
sentatives of  all  our  moral  experience,  — the  very  same  impulses 
which,  when  sole  occupants,  would  carry  us  unreflectingly  and 


770  JAMES  MARTINEAU 

unreluctantly  to  their  end,  instantly  appear  in  their  true  relative 
light  when  their  field  is  disputed  by  a rival.  Nothing  more  is 
needed,  and  nothing  less  will  serve,  than  their  juxtaposition  and 
their  incompatibility.  There  is  no  analysis  or  research  required ; 
it  is  a choice  of  Hercules,  only  without  the  reasoning  and  the 
rhetoric;  the  claims  are  decided  by  a glance  at  their  face.  We 
cannot  follow  both ; and  we  cannot  doubt  the  rights  and  place  of 
either.  Their  moral  valuation  intuitively  results  from  their  simul- 
taneous appearance. 

Here,  however,  complaint  may  be  reasonably  made  of  the  in- 
exact, even  half-mystical  language,  in  which  the  relation  between 
the  conflicting  springs  of  action  has  been  described.  They  have 
been  contrasted  as  “higher  and  lower.”  These  terms  are  com- 
paratives; and  with  this  peculiarity,  that  their  positives,  “high” 
and  “low,”  do  not,  like  “red”  and  “hard,”  introduce  us  to  two 
heterogeneous  predicates,  but  only  to  a “more”  or  “less”  of  the 
same,  so  as  still  to  detain  us  among  mere  comparatives.  “High” 
carries  us  towards  one  extremity,  “low”  towards  the  other,  of 
some  one  extended  and  graduated  whole.  What  then  is  that 
whole?  How  are  we  to  name  the  underlying  quantity  or  quality, 
on  which  these  degrees  are  measured  off?  As  they  are  not  phys- 
ical altitudes,  they  must  stand  upon  something  inherent  in  our 
springs  of  action,  which,  in  its  differences,  affects  us  similarly  to 
varieties  of  elevation.  Till  this  “something”  is  specified,  the 
propositions  which  assert  “more”  or  “less”  are  propositions 
about  Nothing. 

I admit  at  once  the  justice  of  this  demand,  and  the  difficulty  of 
meeting  it  at  this  stage,  where  nevertheless  it  naturally  arises.  To 
ask  after  the  quality  of  an  object  is  to  ask  about  the  way  in  which 
it  affects  us,  i.  e.  about  a feeling  of  our  own  from  its  presence 
or  idea.  The  springs  of  action  are  here  our  object;  the  question 
therefore  is,  in  virtue  of  what  kind  of  feeling  in  us,  excited  by  all 
of  them,  with  intensity  varied  in  each,  do  we  apply  to  them  the 
comparative  language  in  the  foregoing  description?  If  I follow 
impulse  A,  instead  of  B,  my  volition  will  be  “ higher,”  — in  what 
scale  ? — of  pleasure  ? Not  so,  or  I should  enjoy  the  stolen  sweet- 
meats without  drawback,  instead  of  being  ashamed  of  them.  Of 


TYPES  OF  ETHICAL  THEORY 


771 


beauty?  Not  so,  for  I have  no  such  feeling  from  my  pug-nose, 
though  I wish  it  were  straight.  I can  only  say,  that,  good  as  these 
things  may  be,  it  is  another  sort  of  good  whose  degrees  affect  me 
here ; involving,  what  they  do  not,  a sense  of  Duty,  of  Right  and 
o/ifom/ worth,  and  a consciousness  that  I am  not  at  lib- 
erty, though  perfectly  able,  to  go  with  the  impulse  B.  The  degrees 
therefore,  I should  say,  are  marked  on  the  scale  of  dutifulness, 
of  rightness,  of  morality ; and  in  treating  as  ultimate  and  essential 
the  attribute  which  these  w'ords  designate,  I support  myself  on 
the  judgment  of  Professor  Sidgwick,^  who  “regards  it  as  a clear 
result  of  reflection  that  the  notions  of  right  and  wrong,  as  peculiar 
to  moral  cognitions,  are  unique  and  unanalysable.”  Of  the  sev- 
eral words  available  for  naming  this  quality,  Moral  worth” 
seems  the  most  eligible  (i)  as  applicable  to  what  presents  grada- 
tions of  value;  and  (2)  as  exempt  from  intrusive  associations. 
“Duty,”  and  “Right,”  are  so  habitually  used  of  single  problems 
and  concrete  cases,  where  there  is  one  good  course  and  one  bad, 
that  they  represent  prominently  the  dual  antithesis  of  each  sepa- 
rate moral  experience,  and  do  not  easily  lend  themselves  to  the 
expression  of  relative  intensities  of  excellence  through  the  whole 
system  of  ethical  combinations  of  motive.  The  w^ord  “Virtue”  is 
very  tempting,  from  its  covering  an  indefinite  number  of  grada- 
tions; but  it  has  two  disadvantages ; (i)  its  gradations  are  only  on 
the  upper  side  of  the  neutral  level,  and,  to  mark  the  minus  values 
of  which  we  almost  always  have  to  speak  at  the  same  time,  other 
language  must  be  sought ; and  (2)  an  association  of  extra  merit, 
constituting  an  approach  to  the  heroic,  clings  to  the  word,  and 
fits  it  chiefly  for  special  cases  where  temptation  is  above  the 
average. 

Is  it  thought  strange  that  a “unique  unanalysable”  quality, 
whether  of  an  action  (as  Professor  Sidgwick  would  say) , or  of  a 
spring  of  action  (as  I should  prefer),  should  fail  to  reveal  itself 
so  long  as  the  object  was  isolated,  and  should  first  be  discovered 
when  brought  up  by  a double  object?  Even  in  our  physical  life, 
such  experiences  are  not  unknown ; e.  g.  of  heat  we  should  have  no 
suspicion,  if  the  temperature  were  always  the  same  in  our  own 
' Mind,  No.  XXVIII.,  pp.  580,  581. 


772  JAMES  MARTINEAU 

organism  and  around  it;  the  loss  of  its  equilibrium  discloses  its 
existence.  But,  besides  this,  the  moral  quality  arises,  not  barely 
from  the  interplay  between  the  object  and  ourselves,  but  in  the 
relation  of  two  objects  to  one  another ; and  can  no  more  exist 
without  them,  than  fraternity  can  belong  to  a solitary  man,  or 
a convex  surface  present  itself  without  a concave.  In  truth,  the 
quality  which  we  get  to  know  does  not  really  belong  to  each 
object,  but  is  inherent  in  the  pair  as  a dual  object;  and  not 
only  could  not  be  cognised,  but  would  not  exist,  till  they  fell  into 
combination. 

(2)  If  this  be  a true  account  of  our  elementary  self- judgments, 
it  throws  great  light  on  the  whole  method  of  the  moral  sentiments. 
If  the  first  pair  of  impulses  that  compete  for  our  will  disclose  their 
relative  worth  by  simply  assuming  that  attitude,  it  is  the  same  with 
all  the  rest.  Each  in  turn  might  be  experienced  in  isolation,  with- 
out giving  us  a moral  idea ; but  each  in  turn,  entering  with  a rival, 
reveals  its  comparative  place  and  claims,  and  falls  into  the  line 
of  appointed  order.  And  when  the  cycle  of  original  experience 
has  completed  itself,  when  all  the  natural  springs  of  action  have 
had  their  mutual  play,  and  exhausted  the  series  of  moral  permu- 
tations, there  will  be  resources  within  us  for  forming  an  entire 
scale  of  principles,  exhibiting  the  gradations  of  ethical  rank.  We 
have  only  to  collect  the  scattered  results  of  particular  combina- 
tions, and  dispose  them  on  the  ascending  steps  of  authority,  and 
the  flying  leaves  of  the  oracle,  thus  sorted  out,  fall  into  the  sys- 
tematic code  of  Divine  law.  It  must  no  doubt  be  long  before  the 
materials  are  ready  for  the  integral  work : indeed  it  may  be  fairly 
regarded  rather  as  an  approximation  than  as  a scheme  ever  fin- 
ished. For,  in  the  constitution  of  the  individual  man,  new  natural 
springs  of  action  continue  to  arise,  or  greatly  to  change  their  char- 
acter, through  more  than  one-third  of  the  common  term  of  life. 
And  the  maturing  of  society  around  the  individual  also  modifies 
his  spiritual  demands;  producing,  with  more  refined  and  artificial 
wants,  mixed  forms  of  impulse,  complicating  the  list  with  inter- 
polations and  extensions.  Still,  the  beginning  of  a scheme  of 
moral  estimate  may  be  made,  by  following  the  clue  which  we  have 
indicated,  and  seeking  with  it  the  true  hierarchy  of  human  im- 


TYPES  OF  ETHICAL  THEORY 


773 


pulses.  But,  if  we  once  let  slip  this  means  of  guidance ; if  we  either 
delude  ourselves  into  the  belief  that  our  nature  is  not  a system  of 
powers,  but  dominated  by  some  single  autocratic  propensity,  or 
treat  its  inner  springs  of  action  as  a democracy  in  which  there  is 
no  hierarchy  at  all ; it  will  be  impossible  to  give  any  explanation 
of  the  moral  sentiments  or  any  justification  of  their  verdicts  in 
detail.  The  whole  ground  of  ethical  procedure  consists  in  this : 
that  we  are  sensible  of  a graduated  scale  of  excellence  among  our 
natural  principles,  quite  distinct  from  the  order  of  their  intensity 
and  irrespective  of  the  range  of  their  external  effects. 


CHAPTER  IV.  NATURE  OF  MORAL  AUTHORITY 

In  speaking  of  the  relation  among  the  separate  springs  of  action 
as  they  appear  in  the  eye  of  Conscience,  I have  frequently  ad- 
verted to  the  Authority  which  we  acknowledge  in  the  higher  over 
the  lower.  It  is  important  to  approach  a little  nearer  to  this  feel- 
ing, and  find  what  it  contains.  Not  indeed  that  it  is  in  itself  other 
than  a simple  feeling,  admitting  of  little  analysis  or  explanation. 
But  on  this  very  account,  the  attempt  to  unfold  it  and  produce 
its  equivalents  occasionally  results  in  very  inadequate  expressions 
for  it,  which,  if  carelessly  accepted,  may  confuse  or  disguise  for 
us  its  real  nature.  . . . 


‘‘The notion  of  ‘ought’  or ‘moral  obligation,’  as  used  in  our 
common  ethical  judgments,  does  not”  (says  Professor  Sidg- 
wick),  “ merely  import  (i)  that  there  exists  in  the  mind  of  the  per- 
son judging  a specific  emotion  (whether  complicated  or  not  by 
sympathetic  representation  of  similar  emotions  in  other  minds) ; 
nor  (2)  that  certain  rules  of  conduct  are  supported  by  penalties 
which  will  follow  on  their  violation  (whether  such  penalties  result 
from  the  general  liking  or  aversion  felt  for  the  conduct  prescribed 
or  forbidden,  or  from  some  other  source).  What  then,  it  may  be 
asked,  does  it  import  ? What  definition  can  we  give  of  ‘ ought,’ 
‘right,’  and  other  terms  expressing  the  same  fundamental  no- 
tion ? To  this  it  might  be  answered  that  the  notion  is  too  element- 


774  JAMES  MARTINEAU 

ary  to  admit  of  any  formal  definition.”  “In  our  practical  judg- 
ments and  reasonings,  it  must,  I conceive,  be  taken  as  ultimate 
and  unanalysable.”  And  though,  “in  the  narrowest  ethical  sense 
I cannot  conceive  that  I ought  to  do  anything  which  at  the  same 
time  I judge  that  I cannot  do”  (so  that  the  obligation  is  individ- 
ual), yet  “normally”  I imply  that  the  judgment  is  objective: 
that  is,  that  what  I judge  “right,”  or  what  “ought  to  be  ” must, 
unless  I am  in  error,  be  thought  to  be  so  by  all  rational  beings 
who  judge  truly  of  the  matter.^ 

For  my  part,  however,  I would  even  venture  a little  further 
than  this  impersonal  conception  in  dealing  with  the  egoistic  ex- 
planation of  the  belief  in  Duty ; and  would  put  this  simple  ques- 
tion : whether  an  insulated  nature  can  be  the  seat  of  authority  at 
all,  and  whether,  by  merely  splitting  the  mental  constitution  into 
a plurality  of  principles  or  faculties,  such  a relation  can  be  estab- 
lished between  its  superior  and  inferior  parts  ? Suppose  the  case 
of  one  lone  man  in  an  atheistic  world ; could  there  really  exist  any 
“authority”  of  higher  over  lower  within  the  enclosure  of  his  de- 
tached personality  ? I cannot  conceive  it ; and  did  he,  under  such 
conditions,  feel  such  a thing,  he  would  then,  I should  say,  feel 
a delusion,  and  have  his  consciousness  adjusted  to  the  wrong 
universe.  For  surely,  if  the  sense  of  authority  means  anything, 
it  means  the  discernment  of  something  higher  than  we,  having 
claims  on  our  self,  — therefore  no  mere  part  of  it ; — hovering 
over  and  transcending  our  personality,  though  also  mingling  with 
our  consciousness  and  manifested  through  its  intimations.  If  I 
rightly  interpret  this  sentiment,  I cannot  therefore  stop  within 
my  own  limits,  but  am  irresistibly  carried  on  to  the  recognition 
of  another  than  I.  Nor  does  that  “other”  remain  without  fur- 
ther witness:  the  predicate  “higher  than  I”  takes  me  yet  a step 
beyond;  for  what  am  I?  A person:  “higher”  than  whom  no 
“thing”  assuredly  — no  mere  phenomenon  — can  be;  but  only 
another  Person,  greater  and  higher  and  of  deeper  insight.  In  the 
absence  of  society  or  human  companionship,  we  are  thus  still  held 
in  the  presence  of  One  having  moral  affinity  with  us,  yet  solemn 
rights  over  us : by  retiring  into  ourselves,  we  find  that  we  are  trans- 
* Methods  oj  Ethics,  Book  I.,  chap,  iii.,  § 3,  pp.  33,  34- 


TYPES  OF  ETHICAL  THEORY 


775 


ported  out  of  ourselves,  and  placed  beneath  the  light  of  a diviner 
countenance.  If  it  be  true  that  over  a free  and  living  person  no- 
thing short  of  a free  and  living  person  can  have  higher  authority, 
then  is  it  certain  that  a “subjective”  conscience  is  impossible. 
The  faculty  is  more  than  part  and  parcel  of  myself ; it  is  the  com- 
munion of  God’s  life  and  guiding  love  entering  and  abiding  with 
an  apprehensive  capacity  in  myself.  Here  we  encounter  an  “ob- 
jective” authority,  without  quitting  our  own  centre  of  conscious- 
ness ; an  authority  which  at  once  sweeps  into  the  widest  generality 
without  asking  a question  of  our  fellow-men;  for  an  excellence 
and  sanctity  which  He  recognises  and  reports  has  its  seat  in  eter- 
nal reality,  and  is  not  contingent  on  our  accidental  apprehension : 
it  holds  its  quality  wherever  found,  and  the  revelation  of  its 
authority  to  one  mind  is  valid  for  all.  Each  of  us  is  permitted 
to  learn,  in  the  penetralia  of  his  own  consciousness,  that  which 
at  once  bears  him  out  of  himself,  and  raises  him  to  the  station  of 
the  Father  of  Spirits;  and  thence  he  is  enabled  to  look  down  over 
the  realm  of  dependent  minds,  and  apply  to  them  the  all-com- 
prehending law  which  he  has  reached  at  the  fountain-head.  If 
this  pathway  is  correctly  traced,  from  the  moral  consciousness 
to  religious  apprehension,  all  possible  excuse  is  taken  away  for 
treating  the  authority  of  Conscience  as  merely  personal  and  sub- 
jective, or  even  as  that  of  Reason,  “ impersonally  conceived” ; for 
that  which  is  real  in  the  universal  Archetype  of  all  Mind  cannot 
be  either  an  abstraction  or  an  accidental  phenomenon  of  human 
individuality. 

In  startling  contradiction  to  the  position  here  laid  down  stands 
the  assertion  of  the  late  Professor  Green  that  “It  is  the  very 
essence  of  moral  duty  to  be  imposed  by  a man  upon  himself” ; ‘ 
and,  but  for  the  habit  of  consulting  the  context  of  an  author’s 
dicta,  it  would  utterly  dishearten  me  to  find  so  profound  and  noble 
a thinker  pronouncing  essential  what  I had  declared  impossible. 
The  Hegelian  aptitude,  however,  for  unifying  contradictions  is 
not  easily  baffled;  and,  to  my  infinite  relief,  it  here  comes  into 
play  with  such  success  as  to  melt  opposite  predications  into  iden- 
tity of  truth.  A man’s  own  “ Self”  is  not  to  be  understood  here  as 

* Prolegomena  to  Ethics,  Book  IV.,  chap,  ii.,  § 324,  p.  354. 


776  JAMES  MARTINEAU 

a detached  finite  individuality,  that  could  be  what  it  is  in  pre- 
sence of  its  mere  numerical  repetitions : that  he  has  a Self  at  all, 
and  knows  it,  is  possible  simply  because  the  universe  has  an  Ab- 
solute Self,  or  “self-conditioning  and  self-distinguishing  mind,”  ‘ 
which  communicates  itself  to  the  human  being,  — the  infinite  to 
the  finite  spirit,  — and  constitutes  thereby  the  knowledge  of 
moral  law  as  the  expression,  under  temporal  conditions,  of  an 
eternal  perfection.  A man,  therefore,  is  “a  law  unto  himself,” 
not  by  autonomy  of  the  individual,  but  by  “self-communication 
of  the  infinite  spirit  to  the  soul” ; ^ and  the  law  itself,  “the  ideh 
of  an  absolute  should  hef  ® is  authoritative  with  the  conscience, 
because  it  is  a deliverance  of  the  eternal  perfection  to  a mind  that 
has  to  grow,  and  is  imposed,  therefore,  by  the  infinite  upon  the 
finite.  The  relation  in  which  this  doctrine  presents  the  intuitions 
of  the  human  conscience,  and  the  Divine  perfection  of  which  they 
are  partial  manifestations  in  life,  is  in  essential  accordance  with 
that  to  which  I have  given  more  direct  theological  expression. 
The  difference  is  only  such  as  must  always  remain  between  a 
doctrine  developed  from  the  idea  of  duty  and  one  founded  on 
the  idea  of  good ; and  I am  not  sure  that  even  this  is  not  reduced 
below  its  legitimate  minimum  by  a free  resort,  in  the  Prolego- 
mena, to  the  conception  and  language  of  obligation,  more  con- 
genial to  the  author’s  personality  than  to  his  theory.^ 

^ The  difficulty  which  many  persons  feel  in  accepting  the  fore- 
going conclusion  arises,  I observe,  primarily  from  a scruple  about 
the  initial  proposition : I will  therefore  restate  it  in  a form  which 
I have  given  to  it  elsewhere,®  and  endeavour  to  clear  it  of  indis- 
tinctness and  doubt.  “An  absolutely  solitary  individual,  if  in- 
vested with  power  of  various  action  and  disposition,  might  affect 
himself  for  better  or  worse  by  what  he  did,  but  would  be  subject 
to  no  obligation  and  incur  no  guilt.  The  harm  he  occasioned 

‘ Prolegomena  to  Ethics,  Book  II.,  chap,  i.,  § 85,  p.  90. 

^ lb.,  Book  IV.,  chap,  ii.,  § 319,  p.  349. 

^ Ib.,  Book  IV.,  chap,  ii.,  § 324,  p.  355. 

* For  an  important  critique  by  Professor  Sidgwick  on  the  doctrine  of  the  fore- 
going paragraphs,  see  Mind,  No.  XXXIX.,  pp.  434,  435;  and  for  the  author’s 
defence  the  next  number  of  the  same  Review. 

^ Relation  between  Ethics  and  Religion,  p.  5. 


TYPES  OF  ETHICAL  THEORY 


777 


would  be  a blunder  and  not  a sin ; the  good  which  he  earned  would 
prove  his  wisdom,  not  his  virtue.”  “Surely,”  it  is  objected,  “if 
this  Robinson  Crusoe  in  a desert  world  were  to  sink  into  the 
brute,  instead  of  becoming  more  of  a man,  he  would  be  doing 
wrong,  as  well  as  foolishly.”  Perhaps  so,  if  he  be  a Robinson 
Crusoe;  because  he  will  bring  into  his  solitude  a consciousness 
of  all  the  springs  of  action,  with  their  significant  differences, 
which  belonged  to  his  previous  human  and  Divine  relations. 
But  this  is  not  the  case  which  I put.  The  hypothesis  supposes 
the  total  absence  from  the  universe  of  any  personal  nature,  or 
even  sentient  nature,  but  his  own ; then  I say,  if  his  nature  is  in 
correspondence  with  reality  beyond  it,  he  wdll  feel  no  duty ; and 
vice  versa,  if  he  has  any  consciousness  of  duty,  he  suffers  under 
illusion. 

To  take  the  simplest  case  first,  let  us  assume  that  the  happiness 
of  his  which  he  may  enhance  or  impair  varies  only  in  quantity, 
and,  though  coming  from  numerous  objects,  is  homogeneous  and 
subject  to  a common  measure.  Then,  when  from  two  instincts  or 
passions  the  offer  comes  of  a protracted  mild  satisfaction  or  an  in- 
tense immediate  one,  with  a balance  in  favour  of  the  former,  the 
folly  of  taking  the  latter  is  obvious ; but  the  guilt  of  doing  so  can- 
not be  affirmed  with  any  intelligible  meaning.  How  is  he  hound 
to  make  the  other  choice  ? “ Obligation”  is  a relative  term,  imply- 
ing somewhere  a corresponding  claim  of  right:  i.  e.  it  takes  two  to 
establish  an  obligation.  To  whom  then  is  the  alleged  obligation 
upon  the  agent  to  take  the  larger  amount  of  pleasure?  For  here 
there  are  not  two,  except  indeed  the  two  springs  of  action;  and 
these  are  not  two  agents,  nor  are  they  agent  and  patient,  between 
w’hovci obligation cdsy  subsist;  they  are  but  two  phenomena;  and  a 
phenomenon  cannot  be  subject  of  duty.  You  will  say,  perhaps, 
“ It  is  to  himself  ihdit  the  obligation  lies  to  choose  the  more  fruitful 
lot.”  By  the  hypothesis,  how'ever,  he  is  the  person  that  bears 
the  obligation ; and  cannot  also  be  the  person  whose  presence  im- 
poses it : it  is  impossible  to  be  at  once  the  upper  and  the  nether 
millstone.  Personality  is  unitary ; and  in  occupying  one  side  of 
a given  relation  is  unable  to  be  also  in  the  other.  In  order  to 
constitute  for  him  an  obligation,  as  between  the  two  impulses. 


778  JAMES  MARTINEAU 

he  must  have  two  selves,  one  for  each ; but  the  very  essence  of  the 
problem  depends  on  their  both  appearing  in  one  and  the  same 
self-consciousness,  before  one  and  the  same  Will ; a pair  of  phe- 
nomena co-present  in  an  identical  subject.  To  speak,  therefore, 
of  the  self  as  dual  is  only  an  inexact  ■way  of  describing  t'wo  condi- 
tions of  a single  personality,  — its  apperceptions  of  different  feel- 
ings ; and  if  you  affirm  a duty,  you  again  throw  us  upon  the  ab- 
surdity of  a duty-bound  phenomenon.  Shall  we  gain  anything 
better,  if,  by  a change  of  phrase,  we  say  that,  in  experiencing 
the  preferable  impulse,  the  true  Self  is  there;  in  experienc- 
ing the  other,  a false  Self ; and  that  the  latter  is  bound  to  yield  to 
the  former?  To  determine  what  this  really  means,  consider  how 
we  are  to  know  the  true  Self  from  the  false.  There  are  two  tests 
conceivable,  (i)  As  the  individual,  divided  {ex  hypothesi)  against 
himself,  leaves  you  in  doubt,  you  may  go  round  and  consult  other 
samples  of  the  same  nature,  and  return  with  the  discovery  of  its 
common  essence  or  selfhood.  This  test,  requiring  a plurality  of 
members  of  the  same  type,  is  inapplicable  to  our  case  of  a lonely 
being.  (2)  You  may  consult  the  long  run  of  the  individual,  and 
identify  him  with  his  more  frequent  rather  than  his  less  frequent 
state.  Here,  no  doubt,  you  will  find  it  accord  with  his  nature  in 
the  long  run  to  take  the  more  rather  than  the  less  of  offered  plea- 
sure; and  so,  the  true  selfTsmsX  be  that  which  exercises  this  prefer- 
ence. Admitting  that  a sense  may  thus  be  found  for  this  phrase- 
ology, I must  yet  observe  that  it  does  not  help  the  required 
conclusion.  For,  a predominant  preference  of  the  greater  plea- 
sure over  the  less  is  a Prudential  characteristic,  not  a Moral; 
and  where  he  misses  it,  the  agent  has  indeed  to  regret  an  error, 
but  not  to  repent  of  a sin.  The  difference,  therefore,  between 
the  so-called  true  and  false  self  reaches  no  further  than  that 
between  the  sound  and  the  mistaken  economist  of  personal  satis- 
factions. 

Perhaps,  however,  the  missing  moral  element  may  turn  up, 
if  we  now  take  into  account  what  is  claimed  as  a second  dimension 
of  pleasures,  viz.  their  quality,  as  well  as  their  quantity.  There 
may  be  no  obligation  to  take  the  larger  lot ; and  yet  there  may  be 
an  obligation  to  take  the  higher  kind.  Waiving  for  the  moment 


TYPES  OF  ETHICAL  THEORY 


779 


all  objection  to  this  second  dimension,  let  us  put  this  proposition 
to  the  test  employed  with  the  former  one.  There  is  an  obligation, 
you  say,  to  take  the  higher  quality  of  pleasure,  in  preference  to 
the  greater  quantity.  To  whom  then  is  this  due?  Surely,  only 
to  himself ; there  is  no  one  else  to  be  wronged ; he,  and  he  alone, 
is  the  loser;  and  the  article  which  he  loses  is  pleasure.  And  are 
not  his  pleasures  his  own  concern  ? If  he  takes  the  cheapest  lot, 
regardless  of  their  being  shoddy  instead  of  whole  wool,  what 
more  can  you  charge  upon  him  than  imprudence  or  bad  taste  ? 
By  importing  a distinction  of  finer  or  more  vulgar  into  human 
satisfactions,  you  do  not  step  into  the  region  of  morals,  but  only 
change  the  field  of  extra-moral  good.  If  the  Italian  with  his  deli- 
cate appetite  enjoys  his  simple  maccaroni,  while  the  Welshman 
cannot  relish  his  dinner  without  his  leeks,  or  the  Bohemian  his 
without  his  garlick,  the  first  is  of  finer  perception ; but  the  coarser 
taste  of  the  others  violates  no  obligation,  and,  if  open  to  challenge, 
is  so  not  as  a guilt,  but  only  as  a mistake,  which  an  extended  ex- 
perience will  detect.  All  that  you  can  say  to  any  one  under  such 
conditions  is,  “ You  do  not  make  the  best  of  the  resources  of  your 
nature” : and  he  may  answer,  “Perhaps  not;  but  I am  the  only 
sufferer  by  the  waste,  and  am  therefore  a squanderer  only,  not  an 
offender;  I wrong  no  one  but  myself;  and  am  simply  a poorer 
economist.” 

Thus,  relative  quality  in  that  which  is  purely  mine  and  under 
my  will  (as  pleasure  is)  carries  in  it  no  authority,  but  remains  still 
in  the  optional  field.  Only  where  the  relative  quality  speaks  to 
me  also  as  over  my  will,  and  the  higher  term  is  above,  not  only 
the  lower  term  as  a phenomenon  in  myself,  but  myself  in  which 
both  appear,  does  authority  make  itself  felt ; i.  e.  in  the  morally 
higher  quality  is  implicitly  involved  the  presence  of  communi- 
cated preference  from  a superior  mind.  If,  therefore,  you  suppose 
the  lonely  man  still  to  be  affected  by  a duty  in  relation  to  his  sev- 
eral impulses,  it  is  because  you  assume  them  to  carry  in  them  still 
the  implication  contained  in  your  own,  as  framed  for  the  relations 
of  a social  and  Divine  world. 


780 


JAMES  MARTINEAU 


CHAPTERS  V.-FI.  SPRINGS  OF  ACTION 
CLASSIFIED 

The  foregoing  sketch  of  the  essential  bases  of  our  moral  consti- 
tution prepares  the  way  for  an  actual  scale  of  principles  implied 
in  the  judgments  of  conscience.  If  it  be  true  that  each  separate 
verdict  of  right  and  wrong  pronounces  some  one  impulse  to  be  of 
higher  worth  than  a competitor,  each  must  come  in  turn  to  have 
its  relative  value  determined  in  comparison  with  the  rest;  and, 
by  collecting  this  series  of  decisions  into  a system,  we  must  find 
ourselves  in  possession  of  a table  of  moral  obligation,  graduated 
according  to  the  inner  excellence  of  our  several  tendencies.  The 
extreme  complexity  of  the  combinations  renders  the  task  of 
drawing  up  such  a table  precarious  and  difficult.  It  is  not  more 
so,  however,  than  the  enterprise  taken  in  hand  by  many  writers 
on  ethics,  viz.  the  production  of  a code  of  external  duties  com- 
puted to  meet  the  infinitely  varied  exigencies  of  human  life ; for 
assuredly  the  permutations  of  outward  condition  far  exceed  in 
number  the  changes  that  may  be  rung  on  the  competitions  of 
inward  affections.  If  the  problem,  therefore,  assumes  a discour- 
aging aspect,  it  is  rather  from  its  unusual  form  than  from  any 
unexampled  intricacy  in  its  matter ; and,  though  well  aware  that 
the  following  draft  can  at  best  be  merely  tentative,  I shall  not 
shrink  from  proposing  it,  were  it  only  as  a test  of  the  theory 
which  it  applies. 

It  is  difficult  to  understand  the  attitude  of  the  modern  English 
writers  on  Ethics  towards  the  psychological  aspect  of  their  sub- 
ject. They  by  no  means  call  in  question  the  general  principle 
that  moral  worth  or  defect  is  an  affair  of  character,  to  be  estimated 
by  the  inward  affection  or  intention  whence  action  flows;  and 
we  have  already  seen  in  what  unqualified  language  this  princi- 
ple finds  expression  in  the  writings  of  Professor  Sidgwick,  Mr. 
Spencer,  and  Mr.  Stephen.  From  this  principle,  viz.  “that  a man 
is  moral  because  and  in  so  far  as  his  instincts  are  correlated  accord- 
ing to  a certain  type,”  does  it  not  follow  that,  in  order  to  give  any 
account  of  the  moralities,  you  must  be  able  to  enumerate  the  “in- 
stincts” ; not  only  to  enumerate  them,  but  to  describe  the  “ type” 


TYPES  OF  ETHICAL  THEORY  7S1 

of  their  right  correlation,  and  to  contrast  it  with  the  varieties  of 
wTong  correlation  ? Either  this  is  possible,  or  Ethics  are  impos- 
sible. And  this  is  wholly  a task  of  introspective  classification  and 
comparative  estimate.  Yet  no  sooner  have  these  writers  admitted 
the  necessity  of  this  work,  than  they  run  away  from  it  as  unman- 
ageable and  superfluous,  and  institute  a hunt  after  the  differences 
of  morality  in  the  field  of  external  effects  of  action,  instead  of 
among  the  internal  correlations  of  motive.  The  apology  which  is 
set  up  for  this  suicidal  procedure  will  be  examined  further  on. 
At  present,  I will  no  further  defend  the  attempt  to  keep  true  to 
the  ps3'chological  principle,  than  by  saying,  that  it  has  been  more 
or  less  followed  by  the  chiefs  of  both  ancient  and  modern  philoso- 
phy, and  has  fallen  into  neglect  only  in  recent  times,  and  mainly 
through  the  influence  of  writers  who  have  approached  the  study 
of  Morals  from  either  the  casuist’s  or  the  jurist’s  point  of  view. 
Wherever  the  object  contemplated  is  to  lay  down  a correct  legis- 
lative code,  overt  acts  alone  come  into  definition,  with  merely 
subordinate  reference  to  the  invisible  state  of  mind  whence  they 
proceed ; and  the  disposition  will  always  prevail  to  reduce  as  far 
as  possible  this  obscure  factor,  and  give  the  utmost  objective  dis- 
tinctness to  the  law. 

Plato,  however,  though  writing  of  the  State,  and  carrying  his 
inventive  imagination  into  all  its  external  organisation,  did  not 
fail  to  go  back  into  the  recesses  of  the  human  mind  for  the  springs 
of  private  and  public  life,  and  the  separating  lines  of  right  and 
wrong.  I need  only  recall  his  threefold  distribution  of  the  inward 
sources  of  action,  kiriOvixia,  Ov/xos,  and  vovs,  and  the  relative  rank 
assigned  to  each,  both  in  the  celebrated  myth  of  the  chariot,  and 
in  the  remarkable  enlargement  of  their  group  in  the  “Republic  ” 
by  the  appearance  of  the  controlling  BiKaioa-wr].  To  an  arrange- 
ment almost  identical  Aristotle  prefixed  the  general  term  to  opeKn- 
Kov  (impulse),  and  appended  a more  detailed  analysis  running 
down  to  particular  forms  of  each  quality.  There  was  no  one  of 
these  impulses  that  might  not  have  its  best  state,  with  faulty  devi- 
ation on  either  side,  towards  excess  and  towards  defect ; and  the 
best  state  of  it  was  its  aperiji  e.  g,  cruitfipocrvvr]  for  emOvpLa]  avSpua  for 
6vp6s.  This  best  state  did  not  belong  to  the  impulses  by  nature,  but 


782  JAMES  MARTINEAU 

must  be  determined  or  ratified  by  Reason  (I'oCs) ; so  that  even  the 
most  happily  constituted  child,  with  no  tendencies  but  towards 
some  variety  of  good,  could  not  on  that  account  be  called  virtuous, 
but,  in  order  to  become  so,  must  replace  the  mere  drift  of  nature  by 
the  assenting  determination  of  the  self-conscious  will.  In  the 
production  of  moral  character,  Aristotle  thus  recognises  two  fac- 
tors, instinctive  impulse  and  rational  election.  Of  these,  the  first 
supplies  the  power;  the  second,  the  regulation.  The  former,  by 
itself,  would  leave  us  unmoral  animals ; the  latter,  by  itself,  would 
make  us  unmoral  intelligences : and,  as  between  these  two,  — 
random  activity  and  bare  thought,  — it  is  reasonable  to  regard 
the  former  as  the  primary  starting-point  or  matter  for  Ethics,  and 
the  latter  as  the  organiser  of  their  form.  In  these  Greek  modes  of 
laying  out  our  subject,  two  points  deserve  especial  notice:  (i) 
That  they  look  for  their  whole  moral  world  within,  among  the 
phenomena  of  the  conscious  and  self-conscious  nature ; not  among 
the  conditions  of  external  action.  And  (2)  that  the  rational  re- 
flection, which,  in  their  view,  first  converts  instinct  into  character, 
they  regard  as  exercised  upon  each  impulse  taken  hy  itself,  so  as 
to  find  out  and  mark  its  absolutely  right  degree;  not  upon  the 
relative  worth  of  two  or  more  impulses  pressing  their  demand 
together.  In  the  first  point  they  seem  to  me  to  have  seized,  in  the 
second  to  have  missed,  a prime  condition  of  true  ethical  theory. 

The  founders  of  the  modern  philosophy,  no  less  than  the  an- 
cient schools,  sought  the  whole  material  of  their  moral  doctrine 
in  the  interior  of  the  human  mind;  and  not  till  they  had  set  in 
order  the  motive  forces  which  lie  behind  all  external  action,  did 
they  step  into  the  field  of  applied  morals  and  adjust  that  inward 
order  to  the  objective  conditions  and  varying  limits  of  possibility 
which  enter  into  the  problems  of  actual  life.  Descartes,  though 
giving  us  no  systematised  theory  of  Ethics,  has  gathered  and 
arranged  its  preliminaries  in  his  treatise  on  Les  Passions  de  V Arne, 
in  the  relative  ascendency  and  right  gradation  of  which  he  evi- 
dently conceives  human  perfection  to  consist.  Malebranche,  in  his 
“Traite  de  Morale,”  not  only  passes  under  review  “the  inclina- 
tions” and  “the  affections,”  as  his  proper  subject-matter,  but 
insists  on  their  proportionate  perfection,  and  even  makes  “Love 


TYPES  OF  ETHICAL  THEORY  783 

for  their  law  of  order”  the  equivalent  of  all  virtue.  Spinoza,  in 
carrying  out  his  conception  of  the  Ethica,  worked  upon  the 
same  line,  pretty  closely  following  Descartes  in  his  enumeration 
and  grouping  of  “ the  affections,^’  and  explicitly  finding  in  their  due 
subordination  the  secret  of  perfect  character.  The  essential  cor- 
rectness of  the  leading  idea  of  these  philosophies  is  not  affected 
by  any  imperfection  that  may  be  found  in  their  classification  of 
the  springs  of  action.  When,  e.g.,  both  Descartes  and  Spinoza 
give,  as  their  list  of  primary  affections  — (i)  Wonder,  (2)  Love, 
(3)  Hate,  (4)  Desire,  (5)  Mental  Pleasure  {Lcetitia),  (6)  Mental 
Pain  (Mceror  or  Tristitia),  it  is  evident  that  they  are  mixing  to- 
gether with  the  genuine  concrete  type  of  impulse,  — e.  g.  Wonder, 
— which  is  the  kind  of  datum  we  require,  mere  general  qualities 
gathered  by  abstraction,  — e.  g.  Love  and  Hate,  — from  a num- 
ber of  concrete  impulses.  To  have  an  impulse  towards  anything 
is  to  love  it ; fro7n  anything  is  to  hate  it ; neither  of  the  words  in- 
troduces us  to  any  fresh  impulse  which  may  be  added  to  the  list, 
but  only  to  a feature  invariably  predicable  of  half  the  set;  and 
since  these  common  qualities  are  irrespective  of  the  ethical  values 
and  run  across  them  (the  love  of  turtle  and  the  love  of  truth  both 
coming  under  the  head  of  Amor),  they  have  no  proper  place  in 
the  moral  psychology.  We  do  not  want  an  analysis  of  the  idea  of 
“natural  instinct,”  so  as  to  exhibit  its  contents;  but  a list  of  such 
instincts,  as  they  are  and  work ; and,  in  constructing  this,  we  can- 
not afford  to  overlook  their  different  types  of  activity ; whether 
they  are  mere  outbursts  of  inward  feeling,  or  are  directed  upon 
objects,  the  varieties  of  which  may  have  much  to  say  about  their 
value.  A reference  to  the  catalogue  of  the  “affections,”  which  I 
have  formerly  given  from  Descartes  and  Spinoza,  will  make  it 
clear  that  it  is  a medley  of  real  instincts,  with  abstractions  picked 
out  from  them,  and  with  virtues  and  vices  sprung  from  their 
operation  in  their  several  fields,  or  from  their  combinations  with 
each  other.  But  for  this  initial  error,  it  might  have  become  the 
basis  of  a Moral  doctrine  parallel  in  its  development  with  the 
growth  of  physical  science. 

If  we  seek  help,  in  our  attempt  to  classify  the  springs  of  action, 
from  the  eighteenth-century  philosophy  instead  of  the  seven- 


784  JAMES  MARTINEAU 

teenth,  — in  particular  from  the  school  of  Hobbes,  which  hardly 
assumed  importance  till  the  last  century,  rather  than  that  of 
Descartes,  — our  hopes  are  disappointed  from  an  opposite  tend- 
ency, to  fallacious  simplification;  carried  to  its  extreme  in  the 
reduction  of  all  impelling  forces  to  self-love.  This  short  and  easy 
formula,  applied  in  naked  shamelessness  by  such  writers  as 
Helvetius,  could  not  but  provoke  resistance  by  its  paradoxical 
interpretation  of  human  life.  In  the  hands  of  Hartley  and  Con- 
dillac, however,  it  was  started  upon  a course  of  evolution,  which 
enabled  it  to  yield  any  number  of  disinterested  affections  as  the 
blossom  and  fruit  of  primal  self-gratification;  and  in  this  form  it 
held  its  ground  with  those  who  insisted  upon  the  recognition  of 
unselfish  motives,  though  upon  terms  which  construed  them  into 
illusions.  But  men  will  not  go  on  forever  believing  that  they  are 
tricked  by  their  nature  into  groundless  goodness,  or  be  content  to 
love  whatever  is  dearer  than  themselves  on  false  pretences;  and 
so  they  now  prefer  to  cut  the  alleged  dependence  of  the  generous 
affections  upon  personal  self-seeking,  and  give  them  their  own 
separate  root.  This  is  certainly  a gain,  taking  us  back  a step 
nearer  to  nature.  Yet,  as  it  is  but  the  reactionary  split  of  a false 
unity,  it  leaves  us  with  only  a duality,  — viz.  “egoism”  and 
“altruism,”  — as  comprising  the  total  springs  of  human  char- 
acter. The  simplification,  though  not  carried  so  far  as  before, 
is  still  altogether  artificial,  counting,  not  by  natural  distinctions, 
but  by  arbitrarily  abstracted  resemblance.  Many  instincts  do  not 
become  one,  merely  because,  when  satisfied,  they  all  please  the 
same  ego ; nor  are  several  heterogeneous  affections  identified  by 
being  directed  without  exception  on  something  other  than  one’s 
self ; yet  nothing  more  than  this  spurious  unification  is  expressed 
by  the  words  “egoism”  and  “altruism.”  The  antithesis  which 
they  mark  exercises,  it  seems  to  me,  a tyrannical  influence  on  the 
minds  of  our  recent  writers ; turning  all  moral  doctrine  into  either 
a duel  or  a negociation  between  two  opposite  tendencies  of 
thought,  and  forcing  the  variegated  phenomena  of  character  to 
fling  off  their  native  movement  and  costume,  and  appear  on 
parade  in  the  regimental  uniform  of  this  or  that  philosophic  flag. 

Perhaps  the  writers  of  the  Scottish  school  have  best  avoided 


TYPES  OF  ETHICAL  THEORY  785 

the  misleading  conceptions  on  which  I have  commented.  Dr. 
Reid’s  distribution,  indeed,  of  active  impulses  into  (i)  mechani- 
cal, (2)  animal,  (3)  rational,  cannot  well  be  rescued  from  Dugald 
Stewart’s  criticism.  ‘ But  Stewart’s  own  classification  is  based,  I 
think,  upon  strictly  natural  distinctions,  though  needing  to  be 
more  explicitly  wrought  out.  Under  the  five  heads  (i)  appetites, 
(2)  desires,  (3)  affections,  (4)  self-love,  (5)  moral  faculty,  he  finds 
room  for  all  the  motive  and  directing  forces  of  our  nature.  We 
have  here  the  rudiments  of  a philosophical  arrangement,  because 
he  recognises  on  the  one  hand  the  difference  between  animal  im- 
pulse and  open-eyed  desire ; and  on  the  other,  between  the  dynam- 
ical principles  enumerated  under  the  first  three  heads,  and  the 
regulative  action  of  the  two  last,  — Self-love  and  Conscience. 
These  distinctions,  however,  though  verbally  mentioned,  remain 
practically  unused ; they  are  not  permitted  to  have  any  effect  on 
the  classification,  which  presents  the  series  of  five  springs  of 
action,  consecutively  enumerated,  as  if  they  were  all  in  the  same 
rank  in  the  predicamental  line,  and  there  were  no  reason  for  dis- 
posing them  in  principal  and  dependent  groups.  The  differential 
marks  prevailing  among  them  are  quite  too  important,  psycho- 
logically and  morally,  to  be  so  slightly  treated ; and  the  following 
distribution,  with  other  deviations,  differs  from  Stewart’s  chiefly 
in  the  attempt  to  give  these  discriminating  characters  their  just 
rights. 

Primary  and  Secondary 

Guided  by  the  fact  that  man  is  conscious  before  he  is  self- 
conscious,  and  has  active  tendencies  in  both  stages,  I would 
begin  by  distinguishing  between  two  sets  of  impelling  principles : 
viz.  those  which  urge  him,  in  the  way  of  unreflecting  instinct,  to 
appropriate  objects  or  natural  expression;  and  those,  on  the  other 
hand,  which  supervene  upon  self-knowledge  and  experience,  and 
in  which  the  preconception  is  present  of  an  end  gratifying  to  some 
recognised  feeling.  The  former  we  may  call  the  Primary 
springs  of  action;  the  latter,  the  Secondary.  These  names  are 
the  more  appropriate,  because  serving  to  mark,  not  only  an  order 

‘ Stewart’s  Works,  Hamilton’s  edition,  vol.  vi.,  p.  125. 


786  JAMES  MARTINEAU 

of  enumeration,  but  an  order  of  derivation : the  secondary  feel- 
ings being  not  something  entirely  new,  but  the  primary  over 
again,  metamorphosed  by  the  operation  of  self-consciousness; 
and  demanding  a category  to  themselves,  because  their  original 
features  and  their  moral  position  are  greatly  changed  by  the 
process. 


§ 13.  Table  of  Springs  of  Action 

It  may  be  useful  to  collect  the  results  of  our  survey  of  the 
springs  of  action  into  a tabular  form.  The  following  list  presents 
the  series  in  the  ascending  order  or  worth : the  chief  composite 
springs  being  inserted  in  their  approximate  place,  subject  to  the 
variations  of  which  their  composition  renders  them  susceptible 

LOWEST 

1.  Secondary  Passions;  — Censoriousness,  Vindictiveness 
Suspiciousness. 

2.  Secondary  Organic  Propensions;  — Love  of  Ease  and  Sen 
sual  Pleasure. 

3.  Primary  Organic  Propensions;  — Appetites. 

4.  Primary  Animal  Propension;  — Spontaneous  Activity  (un- 
selective). 

5.  Love  of  Gain  (reflective  derivative  from  Appetite), 

6.  Secondary  Affections  (sentimental  indulgence  of  sympa- 
thetic feelings). 

7.  Primary  Passions;  — Antipathy,  Fear,  Resentment. 

8.  Causal  Energy;  — Love  of  Power,  or  Ambition;  Love  of 
Liberty. 

9.  Secondary  Sentiments ; — Love  of  Culture. 

10.  Primary  Sentiments  of  Wonder  and  Admiration. 

11.  Primary  Affections,  Parental  and  Social ; — with  (approxi- 
mately) Generosity  and  Gratitude. 

12.  Primary  Affection  of  Compassion. 

13.  Primary  Sentiment  of  Reverence. 


HIGHEST 


TYPES  OF  ETHICAL  THEORY  787 


§ 14.  How  far  a Life  must  he  chosen  among  these 

This  scale  of  relations  aims  at  exhibiting  the  duty  of  the  moral 
agent  in  each  crisis  of  competitive  impulse,  as  it  is  given  him; 
but  it  does  not  profess  to  measure  the  comparative  value  of  the 
several  springs  of  action  in  human  life  as  a whole.  To  determine 
this,  another  factor,  besides  that  of  Quality,  must  be  taken  into 
account,  viz.  that  of  frequency.  It  is  quite  possible  that  the  supe- 
rior springs  may  have  rarer  opportunities  of  putting  in  their  claims 
upon  the  will  and  directing  their  inferiors  to  retire ; and  then  the 
nobler  scenes  which  they  mingle  with  the  drama  will  be  but  brief 
heroic  episodes  in  a piece  of  many  level  acts.  And  though  even 
humble  and  unenvied  lives  are  never  without  occasions  for  the 
play  of  conscience  in  its  higher  strain,  yet  the  temptations  recur- 
ring day  by  day  bring  on  the  battle  further  down ; for  example, 
against  the  love  of  ease  and  pleasure  the  resistance  is  more  often 
set  up  by  the  love  of  gain,  than  by  the  intellectual  impulses  of 
wonder  and  admiration ; and  resentment  is  more  commonly  sub- 
dued, or  at  least  smothered,  by  the  fear  of  censure  {i.  e.  the  love  of 
praise)  than  melted  away  by  generous  affection.  It  will  not  sur- 
prise us,  therefore,  if,  in  many  a life  that  works  an  upward  way, 
the  part  of  Tcpwray^ovurr-rj^  is  taken  by  some  of  the  middle  terms ; 
and  if,  in  the  history  of  civilisation,  they  seem  to  fill  the  page 
through  volumes,  while  for  their  superiors  a chapter  suffices  here 
and  there. 

But  though  this  maybe  a true  account  of  the  facts  as  they  are, 
is  it  compatible  with  the  foregoing  doctrine  of  the  moral  con- 
sciousness to  leave  them  so  ? Ought  we  to  content  ourselves  with 
treating  the  springs  of  action  as  our  data,  with  which  we  have 
nothing  to  do  but  to  wait  till  they  are  flung  upon  us  by  circum- 
stances, and  then  to  follow  the  best  that  turns  up?  However 
needful  it  might  be  for  us,  as  mere  children  of  nature,  thus  to 
make  what  we  could  of  them,  as  gifts  of  surprise,  have  we  not, 
now  that  we  are  aware  of  their  relative  ranks,  an  earlier  voice  in 
their  disposal,  determining  whether,  and  in  what  amount,  this  or 
that  among  them  should  come  at  all  ? Is  all  our  care  to  be  for  the 
comparative  quality  of  our  incentives,  and  none  for  their  quantity. 


788  JAMES  MARTINEAU 

i.  e.  the  proportion  of  our  life  and  action  which  ihey  control  ? If 
compassion  is  always  of  higher  obligation  than  the  love  of  gain  or 
family  affection,  how'  can  a man  ever  be  justified  in  quitting  his 
charities  for  his  business  or  his  home  ? Ought  he  not,  conform- 
ably with  the  rule,  to  live  at  the  top  of  the  climax  and  never  de- 
scend ? Or  at  any  rate,  is  there  not  some  measure  wanted,  in  order 
to  determine  how  far  the  lower  impulses  are  admissible  without 
unfaithfulness?  These  are  fair  questions;  and  to  meet  them  we 
must  slightly  qualify  the  hypothesis  on  which  we  have  proceeded, 
viz.  that  we  are  to  accept  our  rival  incentives  at  the  hands  of  cir- 
cumstance and  consider  that  our  duty  begins  with  their  arrival. 
It  is  from  this  point  that  the  portion  of  our  moral  experience 
commences  which  I washed  to  illustrate;  but  if  there  be  at  the 
command  of  our  will,  not  only  the  selection  of  the  better  side 
of  an  alternative,  but  also  a predetermination  of  what  kind  the 
alternative  shall  be,  the  range  of  our  duty  will  undoubtedly  be 
extended  to  the  creation  of  a higher  plane  of  circumstance,  in 
addition  to  the  higher  preference  within  it.  No  parent  is  justified 
in  placing  his  child,  no  youth  in  placing  himself,  in  a position  or 
occasion  which  is  sure  to  abound  in  low  temptations  and  to  blunt 
and  enfeeble  the  springs  of  action  that  would  rally  the  will  against 
them.  And  so  far  is  this  anxiety  to  mould  the  external  conditions 
to  the  moral  wants  of  life  sometimes  carried,  that  a profession 
reached  through  a costly  training  is  abandoned,  because  it  is  not 
pure  enough  and  disappoints  the  best  affections;  and  some  work 
is  chosen  which,  it  is  supposed,  wall  exercise  only  the  supreme 
forms  of  love  and  reverence. 

The  limits,  however,  within  which  the  higher  moral  altitudes 
can  be  secured  by  voluntary  command  of  favouring  circumstances 
are  extremely  narrow.  Go  where  we  may,  we  carry  the  most  con- 
siderable portion  of  our  environment  with  us  in  our  own  consti- 
tution ; from  whose  propensions,  passions,  affections,  it  is  a vain 
attempt  to  fly.  The  attempt  to  wither  them  up  and  suppress  them 
by  contradiction  has  ever  been  disastrous;  they  can  be  counter- 
acted and  disarmed  and  taught  obedience  only  by  preoccupation 
of  mind  and  heart  in  other  directions.  Nothing  but  the  enthusi- 
asm of  a new  affection  can  silence  the  clamours  of  one  already 


TYPES  OF  ETHICAL  THEORY  789 

there.  And  though,  by  selection  of  employment,  I may  certainly 
keep  myself  out  of  contact  with  this  or  that  type  of  temptation 
(for  example,  from  love  of  gain  by  joining  the  Brotherhood  of 
Communists),  and  immure  myself  forever  in  the  service  of  some 
one  or  tv\'o  affections  (for  example,  of  compassion  and  devotion 
by  taking  the  vows  of  an  Order  of  Charity),  yet  experience  shows 
that  the  total  effect  will  be  disappointing,  and  that  the  character 
will  not  reach  the  elevation  to  which  I aspire.  The  sterility  of  one 
part  of  the  nature  is  no  security  for  the  fruitfulness  of  the  rest; 
and  so  intimate  are  its  reciprocal  relations,  that  it  is  impossible 
to  live  upon  any  one  order  of  feelings : no  sooner  am  I left  alone 
with  them  to  do  only  what  they  bid,  than  they  begin  to  desert  the 
very  occupation  they  have  prescribed,  and  turn  it  into  a routine, 
or  at  best  a skill  and  tact  without  inspiration.  The  true  discipline 
of  character  lies  in  the  various  clashing  of  the  involuntary  and  the 
voluntary,  and  the  management  of  the  surprises  which  it  brings; 
and  it  is  morally  a fatal  thing  to  be  scared  by  the  former  element, 
and  try  to  make  it  all  into  self-discipline : if  we  insist  on  com- 
manding both  the  data  and  the  quaesita  of  our  problem,  we  turn 
the  problem  into  a sham  and  introduce  a dry  rot  into  life.  Neces- 
sity is  the  best  school  of  Free-will.  But  it  must  be  a real,  and  not 
a self-imposed  necessity,  or  we  shall  be  victims  of  a delusion 
and  a snare. 

It  suffices,  then,  for  us  to  admit  to  our  questioner,  that  a man 
ought  not  to  become  so  absorbed  in  his  business  or  his  studies  as 
to  leave  no  scope  for  the  free  movement  of  his  higher  affections 
and  no  time  for  the  duties  they  enjoin.  But  this  very  obligation  I 
would  rather  rest  on  the  objective  claims  of  the  relations,  human 
and  Divine,  which  he  is  in  danger  of  guiltily  setting  aside,  than 
on  the  subjective  need,  in  his  self-formation,  of  being  less  a stran- 
ger to  the  upper  storeys  of  his  spiritual  experience.  Let  him 
accept  his  lot,  and  work  its  resources  with  willing  conscience : 
and  he  will  emerge  with  no  half-formed  and  crippled  character. 

§ 15.  Resulting  Rule 

We  are  now  prepared  for  an  exact  definition  of  Right  and 
Wrong;  which  will  assume  this  form;  Every  action  is  right, 


790  JAMES  MARTINEAU 

which,  in  presence  of  a lower  principle,  follows  a higher:  every 
action  is  wrong,  which,  in  presence  of  a higher  principle,  follows 
a lower.  Thus,  the  act  attributed  to  Regulus,  in  returning  back 
to  death  at  Carthage,  was  right,  because  the  reverence  for  vera- 
city whence  it  sprung  is  a higher  principle  than  any  fear  or  per- 
sonal affection  which  might  have  suggested  a different  course, 
and  of  which  we  tacitly  conceive  as  competing  with  the  former. 
And  the  act  of  St.  Peter  in  denying  Christ  was  wrong,  because 
the  fear  to  which  he  yielded  was  lower  than  the  personal  affection 
and  reverence  for  truth  which  he  disobeyed.  The  act  of  the  mis- 
sionaries of  mercy  — whether  a Florence  Nightingale  to  the 
stricken  bodies,  or  of  a Columban,  a Boniface,  a Livingstone, 
to  the  imperilled  souls  of  men  — is  right,  because  the  compassion 
which  inspires  it  is  nobler  than  any  love  of  ease  or  of  self-culture 
which  would  resist  it.  The  act  of  the  manufacturer  of  adulter- 
ated or  falsely-labelled  goods  is  wrong,  because  done  in  com- 
pliance with  an  inferior  incentive,  the  love  of  gain,  against  the 
protest  of  superiors,  good  faith,  and  reverence  for  truth.  This 
definition  appears  to  me  to  have  the  advantage  of  simply  stating 
what  passes  in  all  men’s  minds  when  they  use  the  words  whose 
meaning  it  seeks  to  unfold.  I will  not  say  that,  in  his  judgment 
on  such  cases,  no  one  ever  thought  of  his  everlasting  happiness ; 
or,  with  Bentham,  consulted  the  arithmetic  of  pleasures  and 
pains  and  struck  their  balance;  or,  with  Butler,  took  the  question 
for  solution  to  the  autocratic  oracle  of  conscience  for  an  absolute 
“Yea”  or  “Nay.”  But,  for  the  most  part,  these  accounts  of  our 
reasons  seem  to  me  artificially  invented,  and  in  very  imperfect 
correspondence  with  the  real  history  of  our  minds : particularly 
the  first  and  third  as  ignoring  the  sense  of  proportionate  worth 
among  right  things,  and  proportionate  heinousness  in  wrong. 
No  constant  aim,  no  one  royal  faculty,  no  contemplated  prepon- 
derance of  happy  effects,  can  really  be  found  in  all  good  action. 
More  scope  for  variety  is  felt  to  be  needed : and  this  is  gained  as 
soon  as  we  quit  the  casuist’s  attempt  to  draw  an  absolute  dividing 
line  between  good  and  bad,  and  recognise  the  relative  and  pre- 
ferential conditions  of  every  moral  problem. 


INDEX 


Abelard,  Peter,  186-191. 

Absolute,  58,  687-702. 

Academy,  Old,  183. 

Acheron,  128,  129. 

Action,  Springs  of,  400-409,  770-790. 
yEolus,  133. 

Affection,  328-346,  376,  400-410,  428. 
Agathocles,  356. 

Agathon,  85. 

Alciphron,  157. 

Alexander,  157,  212. 

Allegory  of  cave,  Plato’s,  45-52. 
Anaxagoras,  91. 

Anaxarchus,  212. 

Ancus,  129. 

Andronicus,  211. 

Anger,  35,  74,  78,  103,  116. 

Animal,  92,  109,  115,  347“349.  679- 
Antigone,  606. 

Antipater,  92,  95,  105. 

Antisthenes,  95. 

Apollodorus,  92,  99,  106,  107,  109. 
Apollophanes,  95. 

Appetite,  67,  214-216,  385,  466,  786. 
Approbation,  395-400,  448,  455-470,  487, 
489.  513.  531- 
Archedemus,  92,  94. 

Aristippus,  r,  2,  629. 

Aristotle,  53-91,  190,  196,  198,  207,  208, 
209,  211,  225,  234,  237,  530,  781,  782. 
Art,  66,  71,  87-90,  194-196,  725. 
Association,  418-426. 

Athena,  137. 

Athenodorus,  105. 

Attributes,  257-263,  270,  279,  313. 
Augustine,  Saint,  176-185,  197. 
Authority,  v.  Conscience,  Law,  Obligation. 
Aversion,  214,  215,  322,  631,  638. 
Axioms,  258,  269,  270,  278. 

Balguy,  John,  326. 

Beauty,  1-3,  17,  41-44,  98,  109.  i44,  334, 
394,  395,  419,  425,  463-470,  476. 
Beneke,  Friedrich  Eduard,  626-646. 
Benevolence,  249-255,  328-346,  369-377, 
402-417,  428-433,  440-442. 

Bentham,  Jeremy,  483-508,  647. 


Body,  79,  103,  112,  115,  118,  122,  125, 
133,  173,  178,  204,  205,  217,  369. 
Pjjthius,  244. 

Boniface,  790. 

Bonnet,  Charles,  764. 

Bradley,  Francis  Herbert,  720-739,  566. 
Bruder,  C.  H.,  257. 

Brutus,  468,  469. 

Buddhism,  618-620. 

Butler,  Joseph,  369-393. 

Caesar,  Julius,  141,  157,  183. 

Calculus,  moral,  623-640. 

Calypso,  78. 

Campbell,  A.  C.,  206. 

Canopus,  105. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  654. 

Carthage,  790. 

Castiglione,  439. 

Cato,  183. 

Cause,  85,  172,  178,  249,  260-268,  *78 
494,  560-563. 

Cerberus,  129. 

Character,  74,  81,  82,  642,  782,  790. 
Characteristics,  Shaftesbury’s,  321-346. 
Charity,  202-204. 

Charon,  106. 

Chrysippus,  92-109. 

Chrysostom,  Dio,  212. 

Cicero,  180,  181,  206,  210,  429,  432. 
Circe,  78. 

City  of  God,  Augustine’s,  176-185. 
Clarke,  Samuel,  310-320. 

Cleanthes,  92,  93,  95,  108,  438,  439. 
Commonwealth,  Hobbes’,  214,  215,  224, 
277. 

Comte,  Auguste,  667,  763. 

Condillac,  E.  Bonnot  de,  764,  784. 
Conduct,  6,  276,  277,  397,  398,  455-461, 
531,  677-687,  703,  776,  773. 
Conscience,  372,  373,  378-393.  524,  537. 

662,  717,  773-779,  780,  785. 
Copernicus,  764. 

Courage,  3,  17,  25-27,  37,  68,  72,  107, 
340,  475,  704- 
Cretan,  63. 

Criterion,  v.  Rule. 


INDEX 


794 


Crito,  157. 

Croesus,  157. 

Crusoe,  Robinson,  777. 

Cudworth,  Ralph,  229-240. 

Cumberland,  Richard,  247-255. 

Curtius,  475. 

Custom,  66,  196,  760,  761. 

Cynics,  106,  148. 

Cyrenaics,  115. 

Daedalus,  14. 

Daphne,  623. 

Darwin,  Charles,  764. 

Death,  in,  116,  118,  124-131,  160,  183, 
tSg.  33S.  338,  440. 

Definition,  257,  258,  268,  269. 

Delphi,  II. 

Democritus,  130. 

Descartes,  Rene,  236-238,  782,  783. 
Desire,  53,  85,  103,  117,  120,  146,  214, 
216,  299-305,  638. 

Diogenes  Laertius,  92-121. 

Diogenes  of  Sinope,  92,  94,  95. 

Diogenes  of  Tarsus,  115,  116. 
Discourses,  Epictetus’,  132-143. 

Dods,  Marcus,  176. 

Duty,  loi,  no,  231,  290,  310,  365,  435- 
461,  516,  524-530,  533,  541-544,  5S7, 

663,  703,  736,  761,  771,  774,  776-779- 

Dyde,  S.  W.,  586-610. 

Eckhard,  Meister,  617. 

Education,  3,  26,  399. 

Egyptians,  34,  140,  352,  432. 

Elwes,  R.  H.  M.,  257. 

Enchiridion  Ethicum,  More’s,  241-246. 
End,  20-23,  52-65,  80,  83,  329,  375,  554, 
557,  721-726,  729. 

Enneades,  Plotinus’,  161-175. 

Envy,  5,  75,  102,  462. 

Epaminondas,  764. 

Epaphroditus,  134,  133. 

Epictetus,  106,  132-143. 

Epicureans,  247,  432. 

Epicurus,  110-121,  130,  362,  629,  647, 
649,  700. 

Essence,  265,  268,  269,  273,  274. 
Euthydemus,  7-19. 

Eutyches,  157. 

Evil,  V.  Good. 

Excellence,  66-69,  86. 

Fable  of  the  bees,  Mandeville’s,  347-356, 
407. 

Faculty,  69,  87,  89, 132, 153, 156,524-330, 
634-646. 


Faith,  202-204. 

Falsity,  271-274. 

Fear,  112,  117,  124-131,  338,  343. 
Fichte,  Johann  Gottlieb,  365-583,  591. 
Fortitude,  182,  184,  200-202,  245. 
Francis  of  Assisi,  St.,  621. 

Freedom,  263-268,  277-285,  2S9,  301. 

55S-564,  586-610,  711,  717. 
Friendship,  107,  109,  327,  430,  442. 

Galt,  Mr.,  648. 

Gassendi,  Pierre,  764. 

Generosity,  467,  475. 

Glaucon,  23-32. 

God,  229-239,  257-268,  310-319,  400, 
511-518. 

Goethe,  623,  737. 

Good  and  evil,  1-3,37-44,  57-66,  79-83^ 
92-97,  in,  114,  136-138,  141-143, 
161-175,  t77>  180-185,  189-191,  215, 
229-242,  302,  314,  316,  319,  321,  347- 

353.  355-363.  374-377.  394-417.  432. 

532.  548,  626-634,  644-646,  703-719, 

721,  756. 

Gratitude,  31,  116,  443,  450-455,  537. 
Greeks,  226. 

Green,  Thomas  Hill,  740-759,  766,  775, 
776. 

Grief,  104,  112,  216. 

Grotius,  Hugo,  206-212. 

Gymnastics,  26,  34,  38,  58. 

Habit,  66-72,  81,  87,  97,  192-198,  201- 
205,  332,  760. 

Hadrianus,  157. 

Hamilton,  Sir  William,  783. 

Happiness,  14,  56-61,  68,  94,  no,  118, 
171,  185,  241,  249-256,  305,  33t-337, 
345.  354.  364-368,  393,  445.  473,  478, 
479,  483,  540,  544,  549,  648-676,  710- 
719. 

Happy,  Islands  of  the,  57. 

Hartley,  David,  418-426. 

Health,  i,  53,  81,  98,  100,  293. 

Hecaton,  94,  95,  98,  99,  102,  106,  108. 
Hecuba,  396. 

Hegel,  Georg  Wilhelm  Fr.,  585-610. 
Helen,  77. 

Helena,  209. 

Helvetius,  Claude,  471-478,  784. 
Heraclides,  105. 

Heraclitus,  210. 

Hercules,  115,  770. 

Hesiod,  55,  210. 

Higginson,  Thomas  Wentworth,  132- 
143- 


INDEX 


795 


Hobbes,  Thomas,  213-228,  783. 

Homer,  8,  47,  78,  go,  130,  138,  159,  764. 
Honour,  74,  348. 

Hume,  David,  427-442,  510,  522. 
Hutcheson,  Francis,  394-417,  524. 

Ideal,  S57.  740-738. 

Ideas,  269-274,  294-297. 

Ignorance,  ii,  13,  55,  8r,  135. 
Imagination,  147,  28r,  443. 
Immutability,  229-240. 

Imperative,  moral,  548-364,  738-759. 
Individuaiionis,  principium,  616-625. 
Instinct,  379,  380,  406,  426,  780,  782. 
Intellect,  161,  168,  rg3. 

Intention,  iSg-rgi,  401,  416. 

Interest,  v.  Selj-love,  467,  484. 

Ismenius,  107. 

Jacobi,  Friedrich  Heinrich,  764,  765. 
Jowett,  Benjamin,  20-52. 

Judgment,  315,  426,  537,538,  640,  ^(>l- 
773- 

Juno,  7. 

Jupiter,  2,  8,  r3,  14,  r7,  93. 

Justice,  4,  9,  ro,  20-25,  3°“37,  75,  9^,  98, 
107,  rog,  120,  r2r,  162,  166,  185,  200- 
202,  208,  223,  230-235,  295,  310,  3T2, 
396,  428,  433-437,  491,  537,  606,  703, 

705- 

Juvenal,  429. 

Kant,  Immanuel,  530,  537-564,  583,  sgt, 
700,  733,  738. 

Kepler,  764. 

Knowledge,  10,  12,  24,  27,  38,  49,  34, 
86-91,  238,  272-275,  297,  565. 

Know  thyself,  7~r4,  186-igr. 

Kroeger,  A.  E.,  565. 

Lacedemonian,  4,  63. 

Laplace,  763,  764. 

Lateranus,  r34. 

Law,  16,  r2i,  207-212,  22r-228,  247-255, 
292,  306,  3°9-36r,  380-383,  542-554, 
632,  646,  733-759,  772. 

Lecky,  W.  E.  H.,  yii. 

Leibnitz,  Gottfried  Wilhelm  von,  7r4. 
Leviathan,  Hobbes’,  213-228. 

Liberty,  22r,  239,  292,  299,  300,  303. 
Life,  r34-i36,  r5o-r6o,  iy2,  627. 

Livy,  622. 

Locke,  John,  294-309,  5ro,  sri. 

Long,  George,  T44-t6o. 

Love,  ro3,  rog,  i72-r75,  2r4,  281-283, 

336,  340,  423,  430- 


Lucretius,  i22-i3r,  631. 

Lycurgus,  477. 

Malebranche,  Nicolas,  286-293,  460. 
Man,  68,  91,  I4i-r43,  213-228,  248,  366- 
377.  385.  387.  418-426,  524-538. 
Mandeville,  Bernard  de,  347-354,  407. 
Marcus  Aurelius  Antoninus,  144-160. 
Margites,  90. 

Martineau,  James,  760-790. 
Mathematics,  333,  416,  465,  528. 
Maxims,  ir6-i2r,  242-246,  357,  36r, 
542,  543.  551.  552,  557.  767.  769. 
Maxwell,  John,  247. 

Mean,  44,  70-83. 

Meditations,  Marcus  Aurelius’,  144-1C0. 
Meno,  293. 

Menoeceus,  iio-rr5. 

Merit,  rg2,  321-346,  438-442,  450-455. 
Metaphysic  of  Morality,  Kant’s,  539- 
564. 

Method,  Socratic,  15-19. 

Metrodorus,  it5. 

Michael  of  Ephesus,  208. 

Midas,  3or. 

Mill,  John  Stuart,  647-676. 

Mind,  toi-ro3,  ri5,  rso,  186-189,  268- 
285,  471-478,  538. 

Minos,  14. 

Modes,  257,  263,  268,  269,  298,  299. 
Molesworth,  William,  213. 

Montaigne,  Michel  de,  476. 

More,  Henry,  24t-246. 

Motive,  400-409,  488,  499-507,  727,  728. 
Mudford,  William,  471, 

Music,  26,  34,  r32,  135,  483, 

Nature,  93,  irg,  r34,  r4r,  r47,  r5o-r6o, 
iy2,  221-228,  247-255,  292,  296,  3r6, 

355-364,  381-389.  407.  461,  491,  527. 

539,  552,  627, 

Necessity,  229-240,  258-268,  299,  300, 
516,  646. 

Nero,  T34, 

Newton,  Sir  Isaac,  763,  764. 

Nightingale,  Florence,  790. 

Noemata,  More’s,  24t-246, 

Norms,  Beneke’s,  626-646, 

Novalis,  654, 

Obligation,  3ro~32o,  323-327,  479-482, 
516,  547-558,  762,  773-779- 
Observations  on  Man,  Hartley’s,  418- 
426, 

One,  The,  Plotinus’,  167-175, 

Order,  286-293,  394.  424,  491. 


INDEX 


796 


Pain,  V.  Pleasure. 

Paley,  William,  479-482,  790. 

Pansetius,  95,  108. 

Passion,  69-72,  112,  163,  197,  213-216, 
221,  298,  322-346,  379-386,  391,  404- 
406,  41CQ,  786. 

Paul,  St.,  381. 

Paulus,  209. 

Peace,  217-228. 

Perfection,  289,  291,  293,  424,  425. 
Pericles,  88,  429. 

Peripatetics,  108,  183,  229. 

Persaeus,  103. 

Perturbation,  102,  104. 

Peters,  F.  H.,  53-91. 

Petrarch,  623. 

Pez,  B.,  186. 

Pfeiffer,  Franz,  617. 

Phidias,  90,  137,  764. 

Philebus,  44. 

Philippus,  157. 

Philosophy,  52,  no,  116,  122-124,  139- 
141,  146,  149,  36r. 

Phcenicians,  34. 

Physiology,  677-679. 

Plato,  20-52,  55,  58,  T36,  1^6,  161,  164, 
169,  252,  362,  699,  717,  764,  78r. 
Platonists,  59,  475. 

Pleasure  and  pain,  39,  44,  55,  73,  93,  99, 
103,  112-118,  126,  146,  150,  208,209, 
229,  278,  298,  299,  304,  331-346,  406, 
418,  421-426,  441,  481,  631,  647-653, 
691-693,  722,  723,  779. 

Plotinus,  161-175. 

Plutarch,  211,  429,  622. 

Poetry,  433. 

Polemarchus,  23. 

Politics,  54,  55.  65,  225,  350. 

Pompey,  Plutarch’s  Life  of,  211. 
Porphyry,  210. 

Posidonius,  92,  93,  93,  99,  106,  108, 109. 
Power,  132-134,  170,  2TI,  218,  265, 

271. 

Precept,  114,  159,  208,  221,  222. 

Price,  Richard,  309-523. 

Principles,  294-297,  330-538. 

Probity,  471-478. 

Progress,  moral,  740-759. 

Propriety,  443-450. 

Propositions,  257-285,  356,  337,  363. 
Prudence,  4,  87-9T,  95-98,  107,  114,  117, 
196-202,  217,  401,  469,  482,  532,  550. 
Psychology,  545.  633,  729. 

Punishment,  v.  Reward. 

Pythagoras,  512. 

Pythagorean,  38,  71,  609. 


Quintilian,  210. 

Rand,  Benjamin,  626-646. 

Rand,  Edward  Kennard,  186-191,  241- 
246. 

Reason,  65,  84-91,  173,  199,  228,  241, 
242,  250,  254,  286-290,  315,  320,  361, 

491,  526,  545.  562-564.  707- 

Regulus,  318. 

Reid,  Thomas,  324-528,  574. 

Relations,  eternal,  310-320. 

Religion,  310-320,  353-368. 

Republic,  Plato’s,  16,  20-52,  103,  109. 
Resentment,  452-455. 

Reward  and  punishment,  306,  307,  316- 
3t9,  450-452,  481,  491,  644. 

Rickaby,  Joseph,  192-205. 

Right  and  wrong,  206-212,  222,  287,  314- 
316,  320-325,  360-363,  483,  486,  509- 
518,  526,  662,  690-702,  771. 

Roman,  145,  352. 

Rule,  134-136,  294-297,  306,  379,  314, 
315.  379.  461,  479.  659- 

Sanction,  309,  316,  389,  494-496,  660- 
669. 

Sappho,  475. 

Sarmatians,  154. 

Satyron,  157. 

Scepticism,  247,  344,  545. 

Schopenhauer,  Arthur,  611-625. 

Science,  53,  58,  71,  86-89,  t66,  194,  204, 
333.  528.  566,  697,  725. 

Scythian,  33. 

Self-consciousness,  567-585,  592-610. 
Self-deceit,  459-462. 

Self-knowledge,  7-14,  567-585. 

Self-love,  218,  370-377,  392,  401-403, 
412,  419.  785- 

Self-realization,  720-739,  742-744. 
Seneca,  206. 

Sensation,  ro2,  116,  229,  418,  419,  444. 
Sense,  common,  530,  704,  707,  708,  71’ 

715- 

Sense,  moral,  323,  394-417,  421-426,  441, 
490,  520,  52s. 

Sermons,  Butler’s,  369-393. 

Severus,  rs7. 

Sextus  Empiricus,  210. 

Shaftesbury,  Third  Earl  of,  310-346, 

524- 

Shipton,  James,  286. 

Sidgwick,  Henry,  689,  700,  703-719,  771, 

773.  774.  776,  780. 

Silesius,  Angelus,  617. 

Sin,  V.  Good  and  evil,  181,  187-189,  288. 


INDEX 


Smith,  Adam,  443-470. 

Society,  280,  295,  369-377.  44o,  436, 
527.  S34.  S95.  641.  666,  743-755.  772. 
781. 

Socrates,  1-52,  95,  136,  190,  197,  252, 
651,  699,  764. 

Sophocles,  1 16,  764. 

Soul,  20-23,  43.  63,  I2S,  150,  164-175, 
194,  251. 

Sparta,  477. 

Spencer,  Herbert,  677-702,  765,  780. 
Spenusippus,  58. 

Spinoza,  Baruch  de,  257-285,  621,  783. 
Stephen,  Leslie,  765,  780. 

Stewart,  Dugald,  330,  717,  785. 

'^Stoics,  92-109,  318,  534,  630,  649,  651, 
700. 

Substance,  57,  257-263. 

Suicide,  109,  183. 

Summa  Theologiae,  Aquinas’,  192-205. 
Sympathy,  331,  405,  443-470,  490,  507. 
Syrians,  140. 

Tartarus,  129. 

Taylor,  Thomas,  161. 

Temperance,  3,  27-37,  66-83,  88,  95,  166, 
200-205,  245,  469. 

Thales,  91. 

Themistocles,  61. 

Theognis,  112. 

Theophrastus,  146. 

Thomas  Aquinas,  192-205. 

Thracian,  33. 

Thrasmides,  109. 

Thrasymachus,  19-23. 

Timocrates,  115. 

Tityos,  128,  129. 

Tranquillity,  121-124,  391. 

Troy,  85. 

Truth,  19,  43,  50,  57,  74,  75,  85,  88,  272- 


797 

285, 286-293, 310-320,  356-363,  479, 
698, 711-718, 724. 

Ulpian,  209. 

Ulysses,  14,  19,  78. 

Understanding,  277-283,  294-309. 
Utilitarianism,  247-256,  347-354,  427- 
508,  647-719,  756,  757. 

Value,  496-499,  627-646,  744,  770,  771- 
Varro,  183. 

Venus,  124. 

Virtue  and  vice,  2,  3-6,  23-37,  65-91,  95- 
98,  107,  108,  161-160,  186-189,  192“ 
3i<,  241,  242,  279-285,  293,  307,  308, 
821-354.  394-417.  422,  463,  476,  479, 
531.  534.  670,  704-739,  771. 

Vision,  divine,  172-175. 

War,  19,  206-213,  219-226,  t37. 

Watson,  John,  539-564. 

Watson,  John  Selby,  1-19. 

Will,  22,  79-91,  103,  142,  143,  170-179 
188-191,  229-240,  263,  276,  286,  302 
492,  518.  539.  545.  551-564.  567-577. 
386-625,  706,  756,  758,  779. 

Wisdom,  14,  16,  17,  24,  31,  37,  44,  89,  93 
107,  166,  193,  250,  286. 

Wolff,  Christian  von,  630. 

Wollaston,  William,  355-368. 

Wrong,  V.  Right. 

Xenophon,  1-19,  157. 

Yonge,  Charles  D.,  92-129. 

Zeno  of  Citium,  92-109. 

Zeno  of  Tarsus,  92. 

Zeus,  133,  137,  138,  142. 

Zoroaster,  432. 


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